The 'L' Word
by Xenitha
Summary: Between Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson, the word "Loyalty" often has another meaning that is never spoken.
1. A Night at the Circus

CHAPTER 1-A Night at the Circus

BRUCE-Age 22

DICK-Age 8

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FILE NUMBER: RJGW-00DLE304709

PRIVATE DIARY OF BRUCE WAYNE

QUADRUPLE ENCRYPTED-

WARNING-Robin, if you have somehow opened this document, close it immediately and I will not tender any sanctions against you. This is a private file for my own use and is not to be accessed by anyone but me.

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The death of my parents is never very far from my mind. Alfred says that I am obsessed with it, but I don't know any other way to be, so I simply accept it as my reality. In my dreams, I still hear the sound of the gun that brought my father down, then the explosive sound of the bullet that killed my mother. I hear the chik-chik-chik of the pearls on her necklace scattering on the wet pavement. I smell the gunpowder from the gun and the killer's cheap aftershave mixing with Mother's Chanel No. Five. I feel the pavement beneath the heels of my hands as I crouch next to her and hear her final, bubbling breaths.

I don't forget. I never forget. Nobody, no child should ever have to live through these dreams of mine. I've dedicated my life to make sure that no other child ever does.

Sometimes I fail.

I heard that Haly's Circus had hit town and decided to go see the show. Many of the acts in the average circus use skills I've added to Batman's repertoire, among them escapology, illusions, gymnastics and acrobatics, even walking the tightrope. Also, because of the Joker, I have made a study of clowns and am familiar with the traditions of the Commedia dell'arte.

I bought a standard ticket and entered the Big Top with the ordinary crowd, for once not Bruce Wayne, socialite, but just another attendee. The headliners were the Flying Graysons, a family of aerialists. According to the write-up in the Gotham Gazette, the boy was known for his quadruple somersault, one of only three people on earth who could perform it. I had assumed that the boy, Richard Grayson, would be older, maybe in his teens. When he entered with his parents, dressed in green, red and yellow costumes, I could see that he was a small boy, maybe only seven or eight years old. Even so, he looked confident and relaxed, waving to the crowd with a big grin. His hair was curly and dark, more a mop than anything else, filled with cowlicks. But what impressed me the most was the way he moved. He walked like a dancer, as though gravity had no claim on him. In my life, I have only seen one other person as graceful. I had the privilege of meeting Dame Margot Fonteyn, the famous prima ballerina, before her passing. Her every movement was grace personified. This boy had the same quality.

I watched as the parents performed overhead without a net. Young Richard was standing up high, waiting his turn to throw a quadruple, when it happened. Everyone in the audience gasped as John and Mary Grayson plummeted to the sawdust floor, landing with a wet smacking sound. Their son remained crouched up on the platform, tears streaming down his face while the circus workers gathered around the dying Graysons.

There were loud cries and screaming from the crowd as people streamed from the bleachers toward the exits. I couldn't see anything but that boy. As I watched, the ringmaster coaxed him down and pulled him away from the dead Graysons, now covered with tarps until the police could arrive. It didn't matter. I could see the boy's eyes focusing on the pool of blood spreading in the sand. Slowly, I followed the crowd down from the bleachers. This boy had just been orphaned, just like I was ten years before. Someone brought a blanket and draped it over the boy, but he shrugged it off. He was sobbing audibly, tears running down his cheeks. I approached hesitantly. I know enough about grief to know that strangers aren't wanted in its presence.

"What will happen to him?" I asked the ringmaster, Pop Haley as I now know him.

"I don't know," Haley said, mopping his brow with a bright bandana. He crouched down in front of the boy, who was staring at the puddle in the sand. "Dick? Do you want to go back to your trailer?"

For the first time, the child looked up at us both. His huge blue eyes were swimming, even though Dick was making every effort to wipe his eyes. "No...I gotta talk to the police when they get here. Mom and D...Dad...it wasn't an accident...Zucco killed them."

Zucco? I knew the name and knelt down in front of Dick so that I could talk to him face to face. "Dick, why do you think that this wasn't an accident?"

"Zucco...he came here yesterday and told Pop that something bad would happen if he didn't pay him. And...and...I saw Zucco near the rigging before the show...After Dad had checked it. I tried to tell Dad, but he wouldn't listen...There's no way that line broke! I should have made him listen..." Dick was looking up at the broken trapeze lines now, a familiar expression on his face. I'd seen it on mine more times than I could count since my own parents were murdered. At that moment, I was standing next to my younger self, a boy who felt afraid, angry and helpless. And guilty...so guilty.

Looking up, I saw Lt. Gordon of the Gotham Police Department and I waved him over.

"Bruce! What are you doing here?" Gordon looked at the tarp covered bodies, now being examined by the M.E.

"The boy says this wasn't an accident," I pulled Gordon away so that Dick wouldn't overhear. "I believe him. Or at least, I think he's telling the truth as he sees it."

Gordon frowned and looked up at the trailing lines. "I'll have them tested. But you didn't answer my question. What are you doing here?"

I shrugged and did my best to look like an amiable fool. "I decided to go to the circus. I was in the audience when all this happened. I was wondering, though," I nodded towards young Dick Grayson. "What happens to the boy?"

"Until we can find some family, Social Services will take him I suppose," Gordon said. "Not much choice. He's a material witness and a circus is entirely too itinerant for the D.A.'s office to leave him here."

"I could take him," I said, my eyes caught again by that small boy. He'd stood up tall and clearly saw himself alone against the world. I knew that feeling well. "That is," I returned my gaze to Gordon. "If Social Services approves. Might be safer for the boy if he were at the Manor. I've got excellent security and if his parents really were murdered..."

"I take your point," Gordon's eye had wandered to the boy as well. He had a soft spot for kids; he'd just taken in his orphaned niece and was planning to adopt her. We both saw a child services worker approach Dick and try to pull him away. Dick, surprisingly, fought back.

"Leave me alone! I won't go with you! Just..leave me alone!" he shouted as he backed away.

The worker, Miss Simms, as I found out later, simply looked frustrated and approached Gordon for help. "Lt. Gordon, would you please help me with this boy? I have to take him to the Hall for tonight at least."

As we both turned toward Miss Simms, I could see the boy running away through the crowd. "I'll get him," I told Gordon and took off after him. I caught up with him in front of a small trailer. It was old and shabby looking, clearly well-used. He heard me come up behind him and backed against the closed door.

I raised my own hands and tried to look as disarming as I could. He wasn't buying it. His blue eyes met mine. "Are you helping that lady? You gonna help her take me to Juvie?"

"Excuse me?" I answered. For such a small kid, he sounded very grown up. "She's going to take you to a foster home, isn't she?"

"A gypsy kid?" Dick folded his arms across his chest. "Kids like me go to group homes or worse. Nice people don't like to take us in. Most gadjo think we're thieves or something." He gave me a look that dared me to disagree.

"I don't think you're a thief. Let me introduce myself," I held out my hand. "I'm Bruce Wayne."

"Dick Grayson," he replied and shook my hand. "I've heard of you. Rich playboy, huh?"

I fought back a smile at his impudent manner. It was hard to impress this kid. "Some people say so. I prefer the term 'philanthropist'."

"Oh, Mr. Wayne, you've found him!" An irritable voice came from behind me. I turned to see a red-faced Miss Simms. "Richard, you have to come with me. Let's go pack you a bag and get away from ...here." The tone of her voice implied that 'here' was home to rats, cockroaches and other undesirables.

Dick looked around for an escape, so I broke in. "Miss Simms," I used the smile that works with the Board of Directors. "I have lots of room at the Manor and am happy to take the boy in until you can locate his family. Subject to your approval of course. I know how overcrowded the juvenile facilities are in Gotham. I discussed it with Lt. Gordon and he seemed in favor..."

"You, Mr. Wayne? Why that's a generous offer," she eyed Dick with distaste. "You are right, though. We're putting wards in with the kiddie crooks, we're so overcrowded. All right, that sounds fine to me," she said with relief. "I'll fax your office the foster application but I don't think you'll have any trouble getting it approved."

Dick eyed us both with suspicion. "You mean I don't have to go with you?" he asked her.

"No, you'll be going with Mr. Wayne," she said, smiling now that her problem had been solved. "But you should pack a bag." She moved towards the door of the trailer, but I got there first.

"I'll help him, Miss Simms," I said easily. I could see that Dick was about to explode at this stranger going into his home, uninvited. "And if he needs anything, I'm happy to provide it."

"All right then," she nodded. "I'll call you tomorrow to see how Richard is doing."

"Dick," I heard the boy mutter. "My name is _Dick_."

"Would it be okay if I help you pack?" I asked and nodded toward the trailer door. Dick looked surprised that I was asking permission, but he nodded and opened the door for me and led me in.

The trailer was small, more for a vacation than a permanent home, but it was very clean with brightly colored quilts on the beds. Dick nodded toward the one I was looking at. "Mom made that out of costume scraps." He went to a small bunk in the back and opened the drawer beneath it. His pile of clothing was pitifully small and much mended. I began to understand why he hadn't wanted the unpleasant Miss Simms to see it.

He pulled out a bright backpack and stuffed the clothing into it. Then he shot me an embarrassed look and went back to the bunk. Rummaging under the pillow, he reluctantly pulled a stuffed elephant out. It was bright blue with multicolored polka dots, clearly much loved. Face flushed, he shoved the elephant on top of the backpack and zipped it closed. Dick took a long look at his home, then shrugged the backpack over one shoulder. "Okay, Mr. Wayne, I'm ready...I guess."

"Bruce. Call me Bruce," I answered and followed him outside the trailer. At the time, I only had one thought, that I had to help this child. He deserved what I'd never had: closure and protection. It never occurred to me that I was making a lifelong commitment to raising another human being. What was I thinking...?


	2. Alone in the Dark

CHAPTER 2: Alone in the Dark

The boy froze up when he saw the size of the Manor. Having seen the trailer he'd grown up in, I couldn't blame him. "Yes, it is big, isn't it?" I said gently, watching his face. "We do rattle around in it, Alfred and I. We have plenty of room as you might have already guessed."

"We could fit six of our trailers in there. Sideways," Dick said, rolling down the window and craning his neck to take it all in. "Is that a swimming pool?"

"Yes, but we only use that one in the summer," I replied. "We also have an indoor pool for the winter. One of us will show it to you. You're welcome to use it." I got out of the car and stood next to Dick as he pulled his backpack from the car. I could see him square his shoulders as he faced up to the huge double doors. They are made of ebony and are double reinforced to keep out intruders, but Dick couldn't know that.

One door opened, letting light spill out behind the tall, thin figure of Alfred. I suppose I could call him my butler, but he's so much more that it hardly seems an appropriate description. Put briefly, I suppose that Alfred is a surrogate father to me. He's certainly held the role for the past ten years since Father was killed and acted as my guardian for most of the ten years since my uncle died. And even before that, he was more like a grandfather than anything else. He's more than a servant; Alfred is family.

"Master Bruce?" Alfred stepped down from the double doors and saw my young guest. He looked startled and I couldn't blame him.

"This is Dick Grayson," I said, with my hand on the boy's shoulder. "His parents passed away tonight. He'll be staying with us until his family can be located."

Dick turned and looked up at me, eyes burning. "They were murdered. And you won't find any family. Dad was an only child and Mom's family wrote her off when she married Dad. I don't have anyone."

Alfred, who has the kindest heart of anyone I've ever known, bent down and said, "Well, Master Dick, that isn't quite true. You have both Master Bruce and I for as long as you need us. Isn't that correct, Master Bruce?"

Alfred clearly had already reached the same conclusion about the boy that I had: this boy needed us. I smiled warmly down at Dick and said, "Alfred's right, Dick. You can stay here with us as long as you need to. You're welcome here and you're among friends.

Alfred could clearly see that Dick was struggling not to break down again. He reached out a hand for Dick's backpack and took the boy's hand with the other. "I imagine you've had a difficult evening, Master Dick. Why don't we step into the kitchen for some hot cocoa. Fortuitously, I've just taken some brownies out of the oven. Shall we sample them?"

Dick was in mourning, but he was still a boy. He nodded vigorously and allowed Alfred to lead him away. As they turned away, I met Alfred's eyes and gestured to him that we'd talk later. He nodded.

I made my way into the house and went directly down to the Batcave. There was some research I needed to do. While I'd looked at the Grayson's background before buying my ticket to the circus, it had been a cursory search only. I found it hard to believe that Dick truly had nowhere to go.

Ten minutes with the computer, checking the Social Security, IRS, Voters' Registration, Census and DMV records, I established that John Grayson was indeed an only child with no immediately apparent family, unusual for one of Rom heritage. Mary Loyd Grayson was different. Her parents had passed away shortly after her marriage and she had no siblings. Her closest relatives were some second cousins. Her parents had been relatively affluent, her father had been a dentist, her mother a housewife. Mary herself had been to college and made a living as a dental assistant before meeting John Grayson. She apparently fell head over heels in love with him, dropped her job and eloped with him. She subsequently learned trapeze work from Grayson and became part of the act. Her father's will specifically excluded her and her descendants, leaving all money and property to charity. It didn't look as if young Dick had anyone in the world.

Having retrieved the Graysons' social security numbers from the Social Security database, I found their banking records. Although the trailer was old and shabby, the Graysons had had substantial savings and owned a house in Gibsonton, Florida. The forty thousand dollars they had accrued and the house were undoubtedly Dick's now and should be invested for him. I made a note to arrange to probate the Graysons' estate and have myself made guardian ad litem for Dick. Lucius Fox, who handles my own money, could invest Dick's nest-egg and ensure that he had plenty of starting capital when he reaches his majority.

I leaned back in my chair, pondering the information I'd turned up. I heard the clatter of a china cup and smelled fresh brownies coming from behind me. "Alfred," I said without turning. "How's he doing?"

"Young Master Dick had the appetite of a young wolf," Alfred said as he set down the tray with my evening snack in it. "I took the liberty of giving him the bedroom across from your own, in case the lad needs anything."

I turned the chair around and pulled my cowl down off my head. It wouldn't do to spill hot chocolate on it. "What do you think of the boy?"

Alfred's eyebrows shot up. "What should I think, sir? Do you plan to make a practice of bringing home waifs and strays to the Manor?"

"He needed a place to go," I sipped at the hot chocolate. Chocolaty with a scoop of Ovaltine in it. Alfred's touch. "I couldn't let them put him in the Juvenile Center."

Alfred shuddered. "If the boy left alive, it would only be as a confirmed criminal. No, sir, you made the right decision." Alfred pulled a chair up and sat. "Do you plan to keep him?"

My own eyebrows rose. "Truthfully, I hadn't thought that far..."

"So, you plan to hunt down the man who murdered the lad's parents. And then what? Your job done, give young Dick back to the authorities? Oh, good show, sir!" Alfred picked up his own cup of cocoa and began to sip. He didn't say any more. He didn't need to.

"All right, so I didn't think it through," I said. "But he's a good kid. He deserves better than he's had. At least I can give Dick something I never had." I didn't realize that I had balled one hand into a fist until Alfred stared pointedly at it. I slowly uncurled my fingers and let them rest on the desk.

"I hope, sir, that you mean to give him something more than the killer's head on a platter," Alfred said dryly.

Since that was pretty much what I had planned to give the boy, I gave Alfred a quizzical look. He sighed and set down his cup. "Master Bruce, you have taken responsibility for an eight year old child. He needs something better from you than revenge. He needs your attention, your care, your time and your affection. If you want to do him any good at all, you must be a father to him. _That _is what he needs."

"I'm not father material, Alfred," I shot back. "Besides, Dick has...had...a mother and father. I can't replace them."

Alfred's face took on a warm half-smile. "Don't underestimate yourself, sir. From my brief conversation with Dick, I think that you could be exactly what he needs. He is alone in the world, much as you were at age twelve. You had lost your parents but you still needed loving adults in your life."

"Like my Uncle Philip?" I countered. Uncle Philip had been my first guardian and I'd lived at his estate. It was huge and sterile. My uncle had no time for me and no talent for children. It was like growing up in a warehouse. If Alfred hadn't followed to become my uncle's butler, I'd have grown up completely alone. When uncle had died before my majority, Alfred had taken over as my guardian. Alfred, more than anyone, had raised me.

"You can do better than your uncle Philip," Alfred said, rising from his chair. "Think about it sir. This boy deserves your best. He is bright, humorous, almost luminous in spirit. You have been alone in the dark for far too long already." With that, he picked up the tray and returned to the kitchen upstairs.

Alone in the dark. That was the way Alfred had put it. I shrugged my cape closer and replaced the cowl over my head. Alfred had disapproved of the bat costume almost from the day I donned it. Even now, he understands, barely, my need to fight crime in Gotham although he still deplores the danger I put myself in. I scooped up the page with all of Zucco's last known hideouts and associates, tucking it into my utility belt. The dark is where Batman belongs; I have no room for light on this mission.

I understood Dick's guilt at his failure to convince his father of the danger. If I'd only rushed Joe Chill, jogged his arm and ruined his aim, maybe my parents would be alive today and Chill would be in prison. I've lived with this guilt for ten years. By the time I identified Chill in a photo lineup, he had disappeared. If Chill had been tried and punished, maybe it would have lessened the guilt I still felt at failing to save them. I vowed that Dick would have what I hadn't.

I returned from patrol dissatisfied. Zucco had gone underground and there was no finding him, at least not in his usual haunts. I resolved to try again the next day.

It was well after midnight as I climbed the stairs to the mansion proper. I'd showered downstairs and donned pajamas and bathrobe. The lights were dimmed inside the house and Alfred had gone to bed. I opened the door to my bedroom and slipped inside. Alfred had left a plate of sandwiches near the fireplace and I was grateful. I picked up one and sank into the wing chair by the fire, determined to unwind a bit before I went to sleep.

I had almost dozed off in the chair when I heard a loud wail coming from somewhere in the hallway. I jumped up and ran toward the sound. Nobody in the hall. I opened the door to the bedroom across from my own; Dick's room. He was struggling and thrashing in bed, clearly in the grips of a nightmare.

"Dick. Dick! It's all right, wake up! It's just a dream!" I caught his arms and shook him gently, trying to wake him up. He stopped thrashing and opened his eyes.

"They're dead. They're dead. I couldn't stop it and they're dead!" Dick sobbed and threw himself into my arms, clinging tightly. I sat down on the bed, awkwardly holding the hysterical child against my chest.

"I'm sorry, Dick," I murmured, feeling uncomfortable and embarrassed by the ferocity of the boy's emotions. "I'm so sorry. But you aren't alone...You're with friends..." I tried to think of what had been most comforting to me when my parents died, but only remembered crying alone at night. "I know it's hard, but it will get better. I promise."

Dick's crying slowed and he held me tightly without embarrassment. "Mr. Wayne..B...Bruce? I guess I had a nightmare...I saw them fall again and again..." He shuddered, eyes streaming. "Do you think...that dying...hurt?"

"No, Dick," I said with all the confidence I could muster. "It all happened so quickly, I'm sure they felt no pain. And it wasn't your fault. You didn't cause it and you couldn't prevent it." I heard Dick sniffling. He'd tucked his face into my bathrobe-clad shoulder. I pondered whether I should unwrap my arms and let him go...it felt ... awkward but at the same time...nice to be looked to with such faith. Nobody had ever hugged me since my parents died.

"Are you feeling better?" I asked him softly, afraid to startle him.

"I'm scared," Dick said hesitantly. "I'm afraid the nightmare will come back. I'm not used to sleeping alone in a room; Mom and Dad were always there when I had nightmares... Can...can I sleep with you tonight?"

"I...suppose so," I replied, wondering how I was going to sleep with a squirming child waking me up. Oh well. Alfred had said that I should start acting like a father and this is what fathers did. I stood up, Dick clinging to me like a baby octopus.

"Wait a minute, Bruce," Dick said. "We have to bring Zitka!" He pointed toward the blue stuffed elephant that lay tangled in the bed linens. With one hand I snagged the toy and gave it into Dick's eager hands. He cuddled it close and snuggled in against my chest again.

I carried them both into my bedroom and tucked them into bed next to me. Dick was asleep seconds after I covered him and Zitka with the comforter. I went to bed on the other side of the bed, lulled to sleep by the child's steady breathing.

I woke hours later, the sun shining in the windows, wondering why I was so cold. I discovered that Dick had stolen all the blankets and cocooned himself in them. He'd also managed to sprawl across my king bed, nudging me over to the edge with the stuffed elephant . Zitka and I were almost falling off the side of the bed. I tried to move back in toward the center but felt a small pair of icy feet attempt to warm themselves on the middle of my back. Ruefully, I retrieved my bathrobe and used it as a substitute blanket, carefully tucking Zitka in with Dick again and went back to sleep.

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Author's Note: Gibsonton Florida is the traditional off-season home for carnies and circus folk.


	3. Morning Light

CHAPTER 3: Morning Light

I awoke the next morning to the sound of a child whooping, with joy presumably, although I couldn't see him. I stumbled out of bed and followed the sound down the hallway to see a young boy sliding down the bannister to the ground floor. The newel post at the foot of the stairway is flattened into a circular landing pad, which Dick reached gleefully in record time. He immediately hopped off and ran upstairs to the top.

I stood at the top of the stairs watching with bemusement while Dick jumped onto the bannister for another ride down. Alfred, by this time alerted by the noise as well, ran out to the base of the stairs and watched Dick land. He was wearing his canvas apron and carried a feather duster. Uh oh, I flinched a bit, Dick has interrupted Alfred while dusting. A definite no-no in the Wayne household. Alfred claims that he finds dusting relaxing and dislikes being disturbed during this daily chore.

"Young sir! This is not an amusement park," Alfred said forcefully. "A gentleman does not slide down bannisters."

Dick immediately grew abashed and hung his head. "I'm sorry, Alfred," he said. "We never had anything like this at home and it just looked so..." he glanced back over his shoulder and eyed the bannister longingly.

"Well then, I will show you the house gymnasium so that you can work off some of that energy. But in the meantime, your breakfast is prepared," Alfred said, gesturing towards the kitchen.

Smiling, I withdrew back to my room to dress. I hated to admit it, but the boy was bringing some liveliness to the house. Alfred and I had been living like two fusty old bachelors and Dick was shaking things up pretty effectively. I made a call to the office and cleared my schedule for the day. I thought I'd spend some time with the kid.

I came downstairs in black jeans with matching t-shirt and found the two at the breakfast table. Alfred had gone all out and the table was covered with platters of eggs, kippers, pancakes, toast and fruit juices. Dick sat behind this largesse looking forlorn. He brightened up when he saw me. "Hi, Bruce," He turned and gave me a beaming smile. "I don't have to eat all this now that you're here!"

I stifled a matching grin and took a seat. I could see from Alfred's stiff back that he'd caught the boy's remark. Admittedly, Alfred had thrown out the welcome mat a bit wide this morning; there was enough food here to satisfy a small football team. I picked up my napkin and began to serve myself. "What do you normally eat for breakfast, Dick?"

"Nothing like this," Dick said, picking up a single piece of toast and putting it onto his plate. "I usually just have a bowl of Crocky Crunch."

"I'm not familiar with it," Alfred said, pouring milk into Dick's glass. "I imagine it's a sweetened cereal with more nutrition in the box than in the bowl." He sniffed and retreated to the stove.

"I think we might try a box, Alfred," I said, taking a sip of my coffee and a bite of egg. "Today's your day for grocery shopping isn't it?"

"Indeed it is, sir," Alfred said. "I shall make it a point to acquire some cereal in addition to our usual purchases."

"Thank you, Alfred. I'll show Dick around the estate today. We'll get out from under your feet," I said as Dick served himself some eggs to go with the toast.

"Thank you, sir. Sirs," Alfred said with a smile. He produced a newspaper and set it on the table. "I have this morning's Gazette for you and the comics section for Master Dick," he said, distributing the front page to me and the comics to Dick. Soon the boy was deep in concentration, reading the day's comics while I looked at the screaming headline: "Trapeze Artists Killed at Circus Show. Young Son Witnesses Murders." I glanced at Dick and was grateful that Alfred had distracted him suitably, for plastered on the front page was a photo of the Graysons, crumpled in the sawdust. And next to that, a large head shot of Dick, clearly taken from the circus p.r. kit. Now every one of Zucco's men in town would know what the boy looked like. The article also noted that the line had been coated with acid; Gordon's office must have a leak somewhere. This kind of information is never disseminated to the press.

Fortunately, the Gazette didn't give Dick's location. It only noted that the boy was "in hiding" because he was a material witness to the murder. I sighed. We'd have to keep him close. He was the only one who could place Zucco at the scene.

"What's wrong, Mr. W...Bruce?" A young voice chirped from beside me. "You look unhappy."

"It's nothing, Dick," I said. "Are you finished with breakfast?"

"Yeah," he said, eyeing the table filled with food. "I'm pretty full."

"That's fine, then," I said and stood up. "Why don't we go for a walk and I'll show you the grounds."

"Sure," Dick said. "And Alfred?"

"Yes, Master Dick," Alfred said, clearing the table.

"Thank you for making breakfast for me," Dick said solemnly. "The eggs and toast were very good."

"You're welcome, young sir," Alfred replied, just as solemn. "Enjoy your walk."

As I led Dick out the back door and onto the grounds there was no doubt in my mind that Dick had already won Alfred over. Those Alfred loves, he cooks for.

Dick and I walked through the gardens until it became glaringly obvious that the boy really wanted to run, not walk. I tapped his shoulder. "Dick, I'll race you to that big oak!" And I started running. I heard a laugh behind me as the boy took off after me.

There is a sizable oak forest surrounding the manor and many of the trees predate Gotham City itself. I had chosen the largest tree and planned to let Dick win the race. To my surprise, the boy got to the oak, then scampered up it like a squirrel. He had absolutely no fear of heights. I found myself, somewhat concerned, looking forty feet up to where the boy had perched himself on one of the highest branches.

Well, there was nothing for it but to follow him up. I regretted not having my grapple and line with me, but the climb wasn't difficult. Soon I was sharing a large branch with Dick, trying to be nonchalant about his safety.

"Do you always climb trees this tall?" I asked, admiring the view of the manor and its grounds.

"Nah. Usually we don't have trees like this near the fairgrounds where we set up. I do climb the poles to help set up, though, although Mom usually insists...insisted... that I wear a safety harness when I do." Dick's face dropped its animated look and saddened.

"I'm sorry, chum," I finally said. "You know, I lost my parents when I was about your age, too."

"What happened?" Dick asked, swinging his feet.

"We had gone to the movies, my parents and I. It was the best day of my life," I smiled, remembering. "Dad took the day off and I spent the whole day with both of them. Then we went to the movies that night to see the Mark of Zorro. The theater on park row was having a Doug Fairbanks film festival and Dad wanted me to see it." I still feel a glow when I remember that day and the movie. It was about a masked vigilante who protected the people of Alta California from injustice. I know that I was grinning when I told Dick about the movie.

He tugged at my shirt. "So what happened to your parents?"

"We were going back to the car and took a short cut through an alley," I said, remembering that night. "We got mugged. A man with a gun demanded that Dad hand over his wallet and Dad did, but then the guy tried to take Mom's pearls. That's when Dad went ballistic and started to fight back. The gunman shot both of them." I went cold, remembering Joe Chill's face. "He was never caught."

"D'you think the police will catch Zucco?" Dick asked. "I wish I could go after him myself." He clenched a small fist.

"I know how you feel, Dick," I said sympathetically. "You never know; there might be someone else out there working on it."

He flashed me a smile. "You mean Batman?"

I almost lost my seat. "You know about him?"

"We come through Gotham pretty regularly, so yeah, I've heard of him. Some of the circus people say they've seen him and tell stories about him." Dick's face grew pensive. "He's really tall and he's strong and he hits the crooks *Bam!* and *Pow!*" Dick made punching motions. "And then he just disappears into the night, like a ghost! Maybe he is a ghost!" Dick's smile grew broader. "Mom got me some Batman pajamas for my last birthday. I'll show 'em to you when we get back to the house!"

I stifled a smile at this, my youngest fan. Better change the subject, though. "So, Dick, where did you go to school?"

"Me? I'm home-schooled," Dick said off-handedly. "Mom got me a laptop and taught me. I'm up to sixth grade math and fifth grade reading. My spelling sucks, though."

I rubbed a hand across my mouth, stifling the smile again. Damn. How cute can a kid be? "Well, maybe we can arrange for some lessons while you're with us. Alfred could see that you keep up with your studies."

Dick's face dropped. "Aw...Do I have to?"

"It'll pass the time now that you're not performing," I said. "Besides, I imagine your parents valued your education."

"You sound just like Dad," Dick muttered, staring off into space.

I had a wild idea that might work. "Tell you what," I said. "I'll order a trapeze set up. For every hour you spend studying, you get an hour on the traps. How's that?"

His eyes immediately brightened. "Really? I can fly again? You mean it?"

The idea blossomed and bore fruit. "I'll even let you teach me how to fly. How about that? I can rappel and climb, but I don't have much skill yet. Deal?" I stuck out my hand.

Dick was beaming again, blue eyes sparkling. "Deal!"

This began our practice of working out together. I showed Dick the gym later in the day and when the equipment arrived, the workmen were startled to find an eight year old supervising the setup. I didn't step in because it was obvious that Dick knew what he was doing. He scrupulously checked all wires and fasteners and double-checked the setup work. When the set, including net, were fully strung and the workmen had left, Dick stood to one side examining his work with pride.

Then he demonstrated his skill on the trapeze and worked my sorry ass into exhaustion showing me the basics.


	4. Bonding

CHAPTER 4

We attended the Graysons' funeral five days after their murder. The crowd was large, consisting of the entire Haly Circus and Gotham's press corps. And a very sad young boy accompanied by Alfred and I. Why is it that funerals are always in the rain? The skies truly opened up and it poured. Dick wore a black suit and tie that Alfred had bought for him, and we were similarly dressed.

Dick lit up when he saw his old friends from the circus. He ran and hugged Pop Haly, then made the rounds among the circus people. Haly gestured to me and I went over to him.

"Mr. Wayne, I emptied out the Graysons' trailer and put some things in a box for Dick. It's back at the truck; I thought we could get it after the funeral," he said solemnly.

"We'll pick it up for Dick," I said, watching Dick circulate among the people he'd grown up with.

"Is there any possibility that they'll let Dick stay with you?" Haly asked. "Dick seems happy with you. They won't find any family, you know. At least nobody who'd be willing to take him in," he said, watching Dick as well. "He's a good boy, smart as a whip and loyal to a fault. A man could do worse for a son..." He raised his hands at my sharp glance. "I...I mean if you decided to adopt him..."

"This is very early days yet, Mr. Haly," I answered. "You never know, the police might still turn up a relative who wants Dick. I wouldn't want to tear him away from a second home."

Haly's words have haunted me since then.

* * *

I returned to my usual schedule the next day and the rest of the week was quiet, at least from my perspective. I wasn't aware of Dick having any more nightmares until early Sunday morning when I returned from my nightly patrol. Word had gotten around that Zucco had a 'bat' problem. I'd questioned several of his known associates. Each of them simply told me that Zucco was in hiding. When I questioned Jerry the Stump, one of Zucco's lieutenants, he had more to say.

"Why ya pickin' on me, Bats?" he yowled as I lifted him by the collar.

"Zucco. Where is he?" I growled. Jerry blinked watery eyes and tried to look innocent.

"Look, Bats, just because you're mad at Zucco for some reason, you got no call to rough me up..." he whined.

"I haven't roughed you up yet, Jerry," I said. "You don't want another stump to match the first one? Tell me where Zucco is."

Jerry looked down at me with worry, trying to hide glances at his missing left hand. Finally he sighed and said, "He's in hiding. He knows you're lookin' for him. Something about a murder and you goin' loopy about it." Jerry closed his mouth over brown-stained teeth but I knew he had more intel for me. I held him up over a dumpster of especially smelly trash.

"What aren't you telling me?" I rasped. "You sure you want a bath in slime tonight?" I made as if to drop him into the dumpster.

Jerry got a whiff and blanched. "Hey, Bats...I gotta date tonight with my girl. I can't go smellin' like puke, y'unnerstand?"

"What more?" I intoned. Nasal filters on my mask hid the worst of the stench from me, but the smell was pretty ripe. I started to lower him into the dumpster and he started talking just before his shiny wingtip hit the slime.

"It's the kid..." he started. I froze.

"What kid?" I demanded.

"The circus kid. The one whose parents Zucco offed. The boss says that the kid is fingering him for the murder an' he's the only one what's a witness to him fiddling with the lines. Zucco's put a price on the kid's head but says he'd rather do the job himself. Y'know, save money AND make sure the kid's good and dead. Only he's gotta find him first...Hey! I cooperated! You got no call to shake me around anymore!"

I lifted him up again from the dumpster I was about to drop him into. "Does Zucco have any idea where the boy is?"

"He says not yet. But if he puts up enough cash, he figures he'll find out sooner or later," Jerry said.

"Anything more to tell me?" I asked.

Jerry shook his head. "No. I swear, Bats, that's all I got!"

"You leave word with Commissioner Gordon if you hear anything more. Especially if Zucco finds the boy and plans to make a move," I growled again and let him drop into the trash cans next to the dumpster. I had been expecting this for some time. Zucco was a successful low-level gangster and he had money to bribe the information out of Gotham's notoriously corrupt system. If someone at the police department didn't squeal, somebody at social services would.

As I walked back to the batmobile, I wondered. Where had my determination to take care of this small boy come from? I've risked my life for other victims but had never before been tempted to take one into my own home; to put my secrets at risk. Why? What was it about this small boy that compelled me to protect him? I knew in my heart of hearts that I would kill for this child and I didn't know why.

* * *

I came in from patrol at about 3 a.m. As I walked down the hall to bed, I stopped in front of my bedroom door. Huddled at the base of my door was a small, sleeping child in Batman pajamas with a stuffed elephant tucked under his arm. He must have had a nightmare and gone looking for me. Finding the room empty, he must have decided to wait for me. I frowned and picked him up, cradling child and toy elephant against my chest. I sighed. His nightmare was probably bad enough that he didn't want to be alone. I was exhausted from a long day and equally long night, but I remembered having dreams like that after my parents' murder. I carried him into his room and tucked him into bed, being careful that Zitka was within his reach. Then I pulled the wing chair next to the bed and settled in for the night.

I was taught that the unexamined life is not worth living, hence this journal. I need to understand these emotions I'm finding myself troubled with.

The speed at which this boy is bonding to me causes me some concern. Worse yet, I seem to be...feeling... affection? responsibility? caring? for him with growing strength. I am also feeling a new lightness of spirit when I interact with him; he makes me laugh and smile more than I have since I was twelve years old.

But with the type of lifestyle I've chosen, there are multiple dangers. The boy could discover my secret and disclose it, unknowing or it could be tricked or forced from him. Or worse, someone else could kidnap or harm him to get to me, either as Bruce Wayne or as Batman. Alfred has always been safe because the world sees him as a servant; no importance is attached to my relationship with him. Alfred is safe. If this boy should stay in my household long enough to become some type of family...I don't know what I'd do if someone tried to harm him. Even though his association with me endangers him, I am still finding that I don't like to think about the time when I'll have to let him go, either to relatives or an adoptive home. He's brought new life to this old house and, oddly enough, to me and to Alfred. I can't recall when Alfred last baked so many cookies. Now that he has a boy to feed them to, he's preparing recipes he hasn't used in years. I find myself rearranging my schedule so that I can spend time with the boy.

Since my parents died I have been solitary. I've had companions, what I would call a step closer than acquaintances but not real friends; certainly no one I would trust deeply. This boy...the trust and faith in those blue eyes rattle me to the core.

Two nights ago I was home, working at my desk before Dick's bed time and my going out on patrol. Dick knocked on the door of the study.

"Excuse me, Bruce, but can I come in?" he asked shyly.

I raised my head and smiled at him in what I hoped was a welcoming way. "Come on in, Dick," I said, pushing the P & L statements I had been reviewing aside. "Can I help you with something?"

Dick gave a non-committal shrug. "I'm just playing with a computer game but it's lonely in my room. Can I sit in here with you?"

"Sure, Dick, have a seat," I said, pointing to the leather couch. "Enjoy yourself. The house does get big and lonely, doesn't it?"

He nodded, not picking up the game. "Back home...with my parents, I mean, there was always somebody around. Or I could go visit the animals." His face grew still.

"You miss them. I know," I said and moved over to sit next to him.

"Will the hurt ever go away?" Dick asked, pulling his knees to his chest. I noted the new t-shirt Dick was wearing. It had a Batman logo and said "Gotham City" on it. Alfred had taken Dick shopping for more clothing.

"I wish I could tell you that it does," I closed my eyes, calling up my parents' faces. "But it will get better. I can promise you that," I said, putting my arm around his thin shoulders.

A tear ran down Dick's cheek and he scrubbed it away. I gave him a one armed hug. "How about we see if the traps still fly, huh? Or better yet, I'll show you some jiu-jitsu moves so you can beat me to a pulp!" Knowing the danger of Zucco, I've been thinking about teaching Dick some self-defense moves. He's a good enough athlete to pick them up easily. Additionally, going over the basics can only help to improve my own fighting style.

Dick gave me a watery smile as he followed me to the house gymnasium. We dressed out in shorts and t-shirts and Dick proceeded to prove to me again that I look like a hippo when I swing through the air. If I want Batman to remain menacing while swinging on a rope, I have some work to do that I hope Dick can help with.

We took a rest, then it was my turn as teacher. I was glad to see that Dick already knows how to fall. I showed him some simple throws and kicks. To my surprise, he soon had me on the mat. The kid is a natural athlete and should do well in the martial arts.

After the cool down, we sat on the bench drinking water. "Dick, you could be really good at this if you practice regularly. I could teach you if you're interested. You can still do trapeze work and gymnastics here, as much as you like," I said. "You're a natural athlete; you can do anything you want."

Dick mopped his face, then looked at me intently. "If I did, could I beat up somebody like Zucco?"

I was a bit startled at the intensity of his tone. "Uh...you could defend yourself against him and people like him."

"And you'd teach me yourself?" Dick asked. "How often? Daily workout?"

"Sure," I said. "You willing to get up early for it? Say, 5:30 a.m.? I need to be in the office by 8:00 most days."

Dick nodded. "Okay. I'll be here tomorrow." He gave me a fierce smile that was more than half a grimace. "If I ever see Zucco again, he'll be sorry."

With that, Dick and I began a system of daily workouts. I have begun to teach him not only jiu-jitsu but the basics of boxing, karate as well as escrima and capoeira. Since he's a slender boy, I tried to focus on the moves emphasizing nimbleness and grace. He'll never be a bulky man, but he can still be a very effective fighter.

I still ponder what Haly said at the funeral. Dick is clearly a boy who needs a family. When I'm home, he seeks out my company, even if he's only reading a book while I work at my desk. I realize that Dick has always been surrounded by people and feels comfortable in a crowd, but he seems to have chosen me as a sort of combination big brother/pseudo-parent.

I am surprising myself as well. I worry about whether Dick is warm enough at night, enough so that I had Alfred put an extra blanket in his room. I have arranged for Lucius to invest the cash in the Graysons' account and have added my own contributions to it. Alfred has been tutoring the boy and reports that he is very smart, especially with computers. The boy also is multilingual. He speaks English, Spanish and Rom fluently and can get by in German and French. Alfred is going to start tutoring him to improve the last two. I may have a young genius in the house, Alfred says.

Whatever my emotions are surrounding Dick, I know for a fact that Alfred regards him as a surrogate grandson. I believe that tonight's dinner is macaroni and cheese with hot dogs because they are Dick's favorite. When we have to let this boy go to his future, whatever it may be, my butler will certainly be crushed.

It rained last Sunday and Dick seemed depressed, remembering his parents no doubt, so I proposed a game of hide and seek in the house. His job was to hide and mine to find him. To my surprise, I covered the entire house and there was no boy! We started in the study and he couldn't have gone far on a slow count of twenty, but I checked under every piece of furniture, inside every closet. I even checked inside the huge Ming urns in the hallway. He wasn't there either. Finally I went down to the foyer and looked around in frustration, beginning to worry. Then I heard a giggle coming from somewhere over my head. Looking up, I saw Dick perched on one of the French chandeliers. Forget how he got all the way up there, how was I going to get him down?

"Dick! What are you doing up there?' I called, trying to keep the panic out of my voice. I didn't see any cornices near him that a bat-rope would cling to, even if using it wouldn't totally blow my cover. "How did you get up there?"

Grinning broadly, Dick pointed toward the upstairs railing at the head of the stairs. "I jumped," he said. "It's not that far."

'Not that far' with no safety harness or rope, twenty feet up over a tile floor.

"My Mom used to call me her Robin, 'cause I fly so well and I was born the first day of spring!" Dick said proudly. "Should I come down now?"

I gulped. "How are you planning on doing that?"

For an answer, he began to swing on the chandelier, making it sway farther and farther. Worried about the hundred year old bolts holding it to the ceiling, I held a hand up. "No, Dick, wait. I'll come get you. Just...don't try to get down, okay?"

"My word...!" I heard a British voice say behind me. Alfred, holding his dust cloth had entered the foyer and was staring at our young robin perched on his branch.

"Do we still have that extendable ladder, Alfred?" I asked, keeping my own eyes on the boy, and visualizing what would happen if the chandelier gave way.

"I'll have it in a moment, sir," Alfred said and I heard the sound of running feet and a door closing. Shortly, he was back with a tall extension ladder normally used to wash windows and repair trim at the mansion.

With Alfred's help, I set it up and climbed up to the chandelier. When I reached the top, I was face to face with a grimy-faced but smiling ragamuffin. The chandeliers clearly needed cleaning. "Come on Dick," I said, holding my arms out. "I'll pick you up and take you down the ladder."

"Wouldn't it be easier if I just came down?" he asked innocently and nimbly climbed down off the chandelier onto the top step of the ladder. He climbed down my back and took the steps below me down to the ground at top speed, doing a back flip off the ladder six feet off the ground and stuck the landing. I came down more slowly and cautiously. This boy and I need to talk about safety and his predilection for heights.


	5. Zucco

Chapter 5: Zucco

My talk with Dick about heights and safety devolved into Dick's persuading me to take him rock climbing on the estate. I don't know how he manages to do this. I begin, fully intending to have a serious discussion with him filled with admonitions and sage advice then find myself harnessed to an eight year old climbing a cliff face! Not that I doubt Dick's ability. Oh no, those little feet find holes in the rock that I can't even see. He scampered up that cliff like a mountain goat. I was left behind, sweating in my harness, trying to follow his trail. I am forced to admit, and it bruises my pride to say so, this kid is good. He's really good. If Batman ever had a partner with skills like this, his effectiveness would increase a thousand-fold. When they find his family, I plan to watch over him from a distance, ensure that he doesn't become embittered like I did; doesn't need an outlet for his rage and guilt like I did.

Dick is eight years old. He'll be nine in March. Yes, he tells me he's been walking tightrope since he was four years old and on trapeze since age five. He met me at the top of the cliff with his usual effervescent grin.

"I beatcha!" Dick hopped up and down with glee. "You're slow! You gotta practice more." He studied me closely. "And you should drink more water. My Dad says...said...that most athletes don't pay enough attention to good hydration."

I crawled over the cliff, panting for air, but I demonstrated my superior athleticism by chasing Dick into the neighboring meadow. When I caught him, I lifted him up over my head and wrestled him to the ground and then tickled him until he giggled himself out of breath. We both flopped onto the grass, laughing.

I don't know when in my life I've had as much fun as I've had since Dick came to stay. When I was a kid, I didn't have many playmates because I was an only child. After Mom and Dad died, Uncle Phil was absent and, let's face it, Alfred has always been a fairly prim companion. Having Dick here has been miraculous. I spend less time brooding over my losses or planning Batman's next mission. Instead, I'm thinking about new surprises for Dick or remembering a joke to share with him.

When I get home from the office, there's a smiling face waiting for me, anxious to tell me about his day. He still has nightmares about his parents, but I no longer bolt upright in bed when he taps at my door asking to be let in. I just mumble "Come on in, Dick" and soon a small boy, with elephant, is stealing the covers and planning ways to abscond with my pillow. Last night, he actually grabbed it, yelled "Mine!" and took off running. What could I do? I ran after him until I chased him down. Then he turned the pillow on me. Me-the Batman-defeated by a child with pillow! (At least that's what I let him think). I found a pillow of my own in one of the guest bedrooms and gave back as good as I got. Soon, we were battling in a fog of goose-feathers, endangering the antiques, when we both heard the loud sound of someone clearing his throat. We both turned to face Alfred with guilty expressions. His face looked stern, but I caught the twinkle in his eye as he picked a feather off my nose and dusted off Dick's chin.

"Gentlemen," he said. "Did you plan to continue your battle all night or would you like to come downstairs for breakfast?"

Dick and I exchanged rueful glances, dropped the pillows and followed Alfred downstairs to the kitchen. For the first time since I was a child, I ate breakfast at the table wearing my pajamas. Dick had his bowl of Crocky Crunch while I had an omelet with coffee. I couldn't say which of us had the better meal.

Another thing I have notice about Dick is his unique sense of humor. He loves playing with words. He'll either deconstruct a word-disaster becomes 'aster' or, God save me from his puns! I suspect that Alfred has supplied him with joke books, but nobody is telling. I don't know how I'm going to keep up with this kid. I am waiting for the fake vomit and whoopie cushions.

* * *

It has been a week since my last entry. As I write this, Dick is sleeping peacefully. His injuries will heal, thank God, and he wasn't nearly as upset by events as I am. Alfred, who I know must be psychic, just poured me a cup of herbal tea and I need it.

I went out on patrol, still looking for Tony Zucco. Word had hit the streets that Zucco put a bounty on Dick Grayson, $10,000. Zucco is a two time loser and he was undoubtedly worried that with a third strike they'd throw away the key, even if he's only convicted on a lesser included charge like manslaughter.

Zucco's usual associates seemed to have deserted their usual haunts. Not surprising since I've made it clear that I want Zucco. Bad. I had just decided to troll the wharves again when I got a frantic call from Alfred.

When I spoke with Alfred later, he told me what had happened. He was in the kitchen preparing dinner when he heard the alarm go off. He checked the closed circuit tv and saw three figures running up the drive. Knowing about Zucco's interest in Dick, he promptly put through a call to me.

"Sir! Sir, the perimeter alarms have just gone off and I believe that there are strangers in the house..."

"Zucco...or his men. Get Dick out of there; take him to the cave, fast!" It would mean betraying my secret but Dick's life was worth it.

"But sir..."

"Go! Get him downstairs. We'll deal with fallout later. I'm on my way!" I had already made a bootleggers turn and was speeding the batmobile as fast as I could to the manor. While I drove, I imagined all the things that could happen to that boy and with each mental image, my foot pressed down on the gas another quarter inch. ..

Alfred ran up the stairs to Dick's room and quickly opened the door. "Come on, lad, we have to get you to safety," he said and grabbed Dick by the arm. Dick looked startled but obeyed and let himself be steered out of his room and towards the ground floor where the study is. When they got to the head of the stairs, the first of the three men was entering the foyer.

"Zucco!" he heard Dick say under his breath. The man heard it, looked up and spotted butler and child.

"There he is!" Zucco shouted. He raised his gun and fired at Dick but missed, succeeding only in chipping the molding.

"Come on, young sir!" Alfred said and grabbed Dick by the arm, pushing up the hallway to the stairs. "There is a staircase in the attic that will take us back down to the entrance and past the invaders. Keep going up. It's two more stories!"

Alfred herded Dick up the stairs until they reached the attic. Once there, the men were following too closely to try for the secret panel, so Alfred picked Dick up and held him overhead. "Climb into the rafters, lad and tuck yourself into a dark corner! Don't come down for any reason!"

Dick pulled himself up on a crossbeam and did just that as the three men ran through the door. They rushed Alfred and Zucco held a gun on him while his thugs opened boxes and trunks, searching for Dick.

"So, old man, where's the kid?" Zucco demanded.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Alfred replied in his best British manner.

Zucco's men kept searching, finding nothing. Zucco repeated himself. "Where is the kid? You know he's here somewhere. I saw him with you."

One of the henchmen approached Zucco, arms outspread. "He ain't anywhere in the boxes, Boss. We searched 'em all."

Zucco glanced around the attic but didn't look up. Alfred kept his eyes trained on the floor, fearing that he'd give the boy away. "As you can see, the boy has escaped you," he said. "Why don't you leave now before the police arrive."

Both the henchmen cast anxious looks at their boss, but Zucco wasn't giving in yet. "No, he's around here somewhere," he said. "Lenny, hit the old guy."

Lenny shrugged and punched Alfred in the stomach.

"Where is the kid?" Zucco demanded again.

"I wouldn't know...Oof!" Alfred recoiled at another blow and then another.

"You leave him alone!" A small voice shrieked from the rafters above them as a small body came down and landed next to Alfred, hands balled into fists.

I pulled the batmobile up to the front of the manor. It looked like every light in the house was on. As I ran for the front door, I heard a gunshot from inside. I pulled my batarang and entered.

Alfred knows how to shoot and keeps an old hunting rifle in his quarters. I kept telling myself that it was probably Alfred shooting in Dick's defense, but I didn't really believe it. Zucco and his men had no reason to keep a witness alive. If they caught up with Dick, Alfred was just as dead.

I heard a shout, "They're headed for the attics!" And then there were running feet. I ran to the dining room and pressed a carved rose on the mantel. A secret door slid open revealing a staircase going up. My father used to joke about an ancestor of mine who was obsessed with owls and so built half a dozen secret passageways into the house. As a child I'd learned each of them.

I ran up the stairs, not caring if I made any noise. I heard men shouting and a child's voice, screaming. That sped me up even more. When I got to the attic level, I opened the panel and saw Tony Zucco dragging Dick away from Alfred, who was pinned down by two toughs.

I launched myself at Dick, thinking to free him first and then take care of Alfred. To my surprise, Dick stomped both feet heavily onto his assailant's toes, then, grabbing the man's shoulders, did a flip over Zucco's head and landed behind him. Then Dick gave him a good kick in the backside that brought the man down. Zucco's gun skittered across the floor.

I dove for it and managed to snag it before the thug could free himself from the small boy now seated on his back, pounding furiously on his head. I tossed the gun out of reach and went after Alfred.

Alfred wasn't doing as well, although he was trying. I pulled the first thug off Alfred and sent the thug flying with a roundhouse punch. The second man had some idea of fighting back. He followed his comrade the same way. I was helping Alfred to his feet when I heard Zucco's voice.

"Bats! Hey Batsy! I got your boy here!"

I turned and saw Zucco holding Dick tight against his chest with a switchblade against the boy's throat.


	6. Light in the Darkness

CHAPTER 6

Seeing Dick's life threatened like that...it hit me hard. Instantly, I was back in Crime Alley next to my murdered parents, helpless. I felt the rage of all those years, building to a crescendo inside me as Zucco smirked at me, holding the blade against Dick's throat. Oddly enough, Dick didn't look terrified. He looked like he was thinking hard.

Before either Zucco or I could make a move, Dick turned his head and bit Zucco's wrist. hanging on like a terrier. Zucco yelped and shook his bitten arm, trying to shake the boy off, stabbing at Dick with his knife hand. Zucco finally managed to throw Dick off. My boy hit hard against a metal table and slumped to the floor, a crimson stain spreading over his left side.

A red haze dropped over my vision as I went for Zucco. I didn't think or plan, I reacted. I took Zucco's knife from him and tossed it away; I heard a dim clatter as it bounced against the wall. I advanced on this would-be murderer of children and rained blows down on him powered by my mindless rage. I heard someone shouting behind me and a hand grabbed my right arm, stopping my attempt to pound Zucco into a pulp.

"Sir! Sir! He has been subdued, sir! Stop! You must stop this immediately! The boy is alive! Stop!" Alfred's voice penetrated the fury clouding my mind. I looked at the man I had beaten into unconsciousness and beyond, my fist stopping above his battered face. I took a breath and shook the tears out of my eyes.

"Dick?" I rasped. I could see him still huddled next to the table, white shirt stained with blood.

"I checked him, sir. I believe that he's struck his head on the table and has some relatively shallow stab wounds. You would be doing Mister Wayne a service if you could take young Master Grayson for medical care while I wait for the police. I have restrained the...er...hoods...with some of Mister Wayne's fishing twine so I believe I will be safe enough."

By repeating "Mister Wayne", Alfred reminded me that I was Batman, not this child's guardian. I pulled my bloody fist away and stood up unsteadily.

"I'll take him, Mr. Pennyworth. Please inform Mr. Wayne when you speak with him. I'll telephone when I've dropped the boy off at a hospital," I said and handed Alfred the card I usually leave with an untraceable phone number. "He can call me if he has any questions." I noted that my gauntlet had stained the card with Zucco's blood where I touched it.

Alfred pocketed the card. "Thank you, sir. If necessary, I believe that the Gotham Free Clinic is open. Dr. Thompkins is well known to Mister Wayne."

I nodded. Alfred was reminding me to take Dick there if he needed anything more than the rough medical care he administered to me in the batcave. I went to where Dick lay, bent and picked him up, cradling him in my arms. I didn't look back as I went down the stairs. There were no more hoods in the manor that I could see, so we went through the clock doorway and down the stairs into the batcave.

I can't say how terrified I was to see the blood seeping through Dick's clothing. I put him down on the medical bed we keep there, tucking a blanket around him in case of shock. I removed my gauntlets and scrubbed Zucco's blood from my arms. After donning rubber gloves, I cut away Dick's shirt and got a good look at what Zucco had done. I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw that Alfred was right. The cuts were shallow and probably wouldn't even require stitches. Even so, I cleaned each one carefully and wrapped his ribs and arm with layers of gauze. As a precaution, I gave him a tetanus shot. When I took up the vigilante lifestyle, I realized early that I needed to keep up on my immunizations, so we have a good supply.

Now to check the head injury. He had a good bump on the side of his head, but his pupils looked good, of uniform size and reacted to light. Mild concussion was my opinion. I put an extra blanket on him and sank into the armchair next to the bed, my head in my hands. A slow, very slow realization began to dawn.

I've been an idiot all these years.

As I sit and watch him sleep, I feel a mix of great terror and terrible joy. As a child, I had an uncommonly close relationship with my parents. I was their world and I knew it. Then, they were taken from me. From that day, I closed down inside. I trusted no one. I loved no one. No one got close to me except for Alfred, and even he had trouble getting me to let him in. After years of this...this...brick wall inside, I had become convinced that I was incapable of loving anyone. My relationships were all cerebral ones, devoid of emotion unless it be the rage and determination that propels the Batman through the dark. I cared for humanity as a whole, but cared for no one human being. Loving anyone is dangerous if my enemies find out. I used this to rationalize my fear of losing anyone I loved ever again. The fear of that loss has kept me cold and alone all these years. All alone in the dark.

I felt my heart crack open when Zucco was about to take this child...my child...away from me. Dear God, I was mistaken. I can love after all.

I pulled my cowl back and sat by Dick's bed, my heart full and my mind churning with all the dangers that could take him. I know that I will spend my life standing between this boy and danger. I will protect him with my last breath and try to nurture him as I wasn't nurtured. I will try to prevent what happened to me. He will grow up joyful and free and as much unlike me as it's possible to make him. There's no question now whether Dick Grayson has a family. He has one...he has me.

* * *

Later-

Alfred came downstairs and double checked my work and pronounced it good. He agrees that Dick has a minor concussion and should wake shortly. The police have taken Zucco and his men away, to be charged with, among other things, the attempted murder of Dick Grayson, assault on Alfred Pennyworth and, for Zucco, the murder of the Graysons.

Alfred pulled up a chair and sat next to me. "Shouldn't we move young Master Dick back to his bedroom?"

I flashed a smile at Alfred. "I'll carry him upstairs. We'll have to decide how to deal with my evening activities; whether to tell Dick or not."

"You seem different, sir," Alfred said, studying my face. "Lighter, somehow..."

I smiled again, the joy clearly showing through. "I didn't think...I mean, Alfred...I've made a decision...Dick isn't going to leave us anytime soon. I'm calling Rae Green tomorrow morning and having her file papers for me to adopt Dick as my son."

Alfred's eyes widened. "Are you certain, sir? A child is a great responsibility."

"Yes, but I can't imagine life without Dick at the manor with us. Can you?" I turned to Alfred.

Alfred's lip twitched. "I must admit sir, that having the Young Master present has added a certain levity to the household. I, too, would miss him should he leave us." He looked at Dick and sighed. "You will need to discuss this with him, though. He may not want a new father so soon after losing his own."

I frowned. That thought hadn't occurred to me. What if Dick didn't want to be adopted? What if he preferred an orphanage with other kids over a huge empty house with two grown men? And the problem of Batman remained. Tell him the secret? Leave him in the dark? How to protect him from my enemies. He might be...no, he would probably be safer somewhere far from me... But I couldn't let him go.

I carried Dick up the stairs to his room and sat with him. I had changed clothing back to Bruce Wayne's khaki pants and blue long-sleeved shirt. Soon after I sat down by his bedside, he began to wake, looking frightened until he saw me.

"Bruce...what happened? Where's Zucco?" His blue eyes darted around the room.

I put a hand on his shoulder. "It's okay, Dick. He and his men are in jail. Batman caught them."

Dick gave me a long, considering look, then grinned. "I won't tell anybody, Bruce."

I started. "Tell anybody what?"

He rolled his eyes. "That you're Batman! I may be a little kid, but I'm not that dumb."

I leaned back in my chair, broadsided by this. "How long have you known?" I whispered.

"When I saw you fight. You've been teaching me to fight and I've been watching you close, so I can learn. Batman moves like you do. When I saw you come into the room, I knew everything would be okay," he said. His eyes gave a long, slow blink and he yawned. "My head hurts. Can we talk about this tomorrow?"

I stifled a smile. "Fine, we'll have a long talk in the morning. You've got a concussion, so I'm going to stay here and wake you about every hour just to make sure you're doing okay. All right, chum?"

"Okay," he said and drifted off to sleep. I was left sitting and thinking, long and hard about the future.


	7. The Beginning

CHAPTER 7

The next morning, Dick showed up in the gym for a workout. I can't fault him his diligence. I gave him a brief neurological examination, his balance seemed unaffected by the head injury and he said that the headache was gone, so I put him through his paces, albeit gently.

After going through some new defensive moves, which he picked up immediately, we tried some trapeze work. Dick has been teaching me to be a catcher, like his father. At one point, Dick swung over to me and I caught him firmly, feeling our wrists lock together. He laughed and called out, "Good catch, Dad!" then blushed and let himself fall into the net.

So he'd been feeling the bond too. After he cleared the net, I dropped down and called him over to the bench. I handed him his towel, sat down and patted the seat next to me. He sat, drinking a bottle of water he'd picked up.

I spoke softly. This was important. "Is that the way you've been feeling, Dick? Like I'm another father?"

His gaze fell and he blushed again. "Yeah, kinda," he said in a low tone. "Does that make you mad?"

I grinned. "No. That just leads me to the next question. Would you like it if I adopted you? I've been thinking about that lately, but I can't replace your parents and I don't want to try." I held my breath, waiting for his answer. I hadn't realized until just that moment how very important this was to me.

He looked up, his face alight with joy. "You mean it? You really want me?"

Poor kid, he'd been feeling all alone in the world. I know what that feels like. "Yes," I said firmly, arm around his shoulder. "I want you. How about it?"

Dick just nodded energetically. "Yeah!" Then he stopped and looked doubtful. "Do I hafta call you Dad?"

I grimaced. I mean, 'Dad' is my father, not me. "No, just call me Bruce like we always have. Deal?" I held out my right hand and he shook it. I grabbed him with it and hugged him close. _My_ son. _My_ boy.

* * *

Later, I took an excited boy on a tour of the batcave. Dick was fascinated with the equipment, especially the computers. I had just bought the Cray mainframes six months before and hadn't yet found a limit to their computing power.

"Bruce?"

"Huh?" I snapped back to attention. My mind had wandered as I watched Dick climb over the equipment.

"You need a partner," Dick said confidently.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Well, it took both of us to take care of Zucco and his thugs last night. You need somebody to guard your back out there." He pointed a thumb at his chest. "Me."

"Oh, no," I answered swiftly. "It's too dangerous. It's bad enough that you figured out my identity. This isn't child's play, Dick, it's serious business."

"I know," his eyes looked old suddenly. "The thing is, Zucco's taken care of, but what about other people? What if I could prevent other kids from losing their parents? I just want..." He held out his hands. "I'm not performing anymore, but I know how to do things. You even said yourself that I climb better than you do. I don't want to waste it."

"It's too dangerous," I insisted. "You're too young for this."

"I wasn't too young to watch my parents die. And I wasn't too young for Zucco to try to murder me." Dick turned and faced me. "And I wasn't too young to try to fight him and defend Alfred. I know this is dangerous, Bruce. I get it. But this is something I have to do." He frowned a little. "Or would you rather I go out on my own and try it? Because I will, sooner or later. And besides," he met my eyes, dead serious. "I've already lost one set of parents. I don't want to lose you, too, Bruce. At least, if I'm there I might be able to protect you. I...I can't lose anyone else..."

I looked at his earnest young face and couldn't disagree. I understand how it feels, to be too young and powerless to extract justice for yourself. It took me years of training to finally decide to seize that power. Having done it myself, I could shorten the process for Dick. I could train him. Watch out for him. Ensure that he never made my mistakes. Dick was capable of trying to be a vigilante himself and would probably get himself killed within a week. I had been mulling over this very idea ever since I saw how good this kid was. But most important, and I feel guilty admitting it, I want to spend more time with him than being Batman allows. Between my daytime persona and my nighttime activities, there isn't much left for being a father. I rubbed my chin, making my decision.

"All right, you can be my partner. But there are conditions," I said over Dick's loud whooping. "First, I give the orders and you obey them. If I tell you to stand down, you obey me. Got that? Second, I'll train you and you don't go out until I say you're ready and not before. Third, you'll be in school and your grades are as important as patrolling with me. If your grades fall, you stay home until you work them up again. And last, you give me everything you've got. And then you give me more!" I tried my best bat-glare on the kid but he was too busy giggling and dancing around me that I doubt it had any real effect. "Oh, and one more rule. When we're out there, you and I are partners. It's a business relationship, not a father/son team. If my enemies figure out how important you are to me, they'll use you to get at me. I don't want to increase your risk. So no hugging where anyone can see, got that?"

Dick, who had just hugged me around the waist, pulled back. Honestly, I've never known a more tactile child. I think it must be the result of a loving home with caring parents who were never afraid to show their feelings. Dick is only now beginning to realize just how lucky he was.

"Okay," he said with a smirk. "Can I still hug you at home when I'm just Dick Grayson?"

I couldn't restrain the grin. "Okay, if you have to," I replied. 'If I can tickle you mercilessly." I said and moved in. He whooped again and bounced off the table, past the crime lab and found the workout equipment with me following. He was showing me his wrestling moves (carefully-didn't want to hurt his knife wounds), when Alfred appeared.

"Would you care to sample the luncheon I have prepared?" he asked in his best British butler voice.

"Sure, Alfie!" Dick piped up, letting me out of a headlock. "I'm really hungry. What are we having?"

Alfred looked down his nose at us but his eyes twinkled. "Macaroni cheese with hot dogs, young sir," he replied. "I had originally planned crepes Suzette, but decided to simplify things somewhat."

Dick frowned a little at the mention of French food, then sprang upright and ran to Alfred. He gave the butler a big hug, leaving the man breathless.

"To what do I owe this display of affection, young sir?" Alfred asked, smoothing his jacket.

"I'm getting adopted, Alfie! Bruce is gonna keep me, forever and ever! Isn't that great?" Dick's grin was catching and I saw Alfred fight the broad smile that made its way across his face.

"Indeed it is good news. Then we shall see much more of you," he said.

"And Batman is gonna have a new partner. ME!" Dick bounced up and down some more. "Just as soon as I'm ready!"

Alfred's smile failed and he shot me a gimlet look. "I see. Well, you head upstairs to shower and change for luncheon, Master Dick, while I speak with Master Bruce." He waited until Dick was out of the cave, then turned to me.

"Master Bruce," the old butler said in a low tone. "Excuse me, but did I just hear Master Dick say that he will become Batman's new partner?"

I smiled, happy at both Dick's adoption and his joining my mission to rid Gotham of crime. At last, I was no longer alone. "Yes, as you can see, he's very pleased at being adopted and it was Dick that insisted I should train him as a partner."

I could see that Alfred was struggling for words. Finally, he burst out, "Sir, have you taken leave of your senses?"

I was startled at his reaction. "Surely you can't object to my adopting Dick, you agreed..." A slicing wave of his hand stopped me in mid-sentence.

"No...no...You can't possibly be thinking of taking an eight year old boy on your evening excursions! He's a mere child! He'll be killed or worse!" Alfred finally ran out of steam, regarding me with stark horror.

"He won't be eight years old when he finally hits the streets. I'm planning on an extensive training program for him. For all we know, he may change his mind when he sees how much work this involves." I said with confidence.

"And if he doesn't, sir? What if he completes and passes all your training and tests and then demands to fight at your side? What then?" I'd never seen Alfred so angry and it gave me pause.

"Uh...then I'd have to keep my promise," I said hesitantly. "I did make one."

"How on earth will you keep a child safe on Gotham's streets? Grown men, the police are afraid to go out there!" Alfred insisted. "I spend enough time worrying about your dubious welfare and now you are bringing a child into it?"

"Alfred, I really have thought about this." I grabbed his arm and made him sit down across from me. "Dick has skills that even I have never learned. Between the two of us, we'll be a force to be reckoned with. And he has as much need for justice as I ever had. He as much as threatened to go out by himself and do this alone if I didn't take him on. Now, what would you prefer? Dick out there as a vigilante, all alone? Or with me, protected and guided? He'll be a lot safer with me."

"He's only considering this because of your example..."Alfred grumbled.

I sighed. "Yes, I supposed that's true. But I can't unwrite history. Dick has made his decision and I have to honor it. Don't worry, Alfred, I'll protect him, with my life if necessary."

"And if you are injured or die out there and leave the boy alone? Facing criminals? What then?" Alfred asked dispiritedly. "And the lad has to go it alone?"

"I'll train him so well that he'll be able to fight his way out of almost anything. And if I ever die, he'll have you, Alfred."

He didn't look mollified, but at least he'd stopped scolding. He gave a loud "Hmph!" and stalked upstairs. I followed since being late for a meal would only upset him more.

* * *

Lunch was a quiet affair. I think Dick realized that Alfred and I had had a falling out and that it was about him. I felt guilty, since none of this was Dick's fault. If truth be told, I'm overjoyed that Dick wants to help Batman. Dick's moving into Batman's world means that I will be spending much more time with him-first training him and then bringing him along on patrols. I've never worked with a partner before, but I am looking forward to it. I'm beginning to develop ideas on how Batman and his partner (must find a name for him) can work together.

One of the things that Dick does best is move. He's in constant motion. He's also in constant chatter. He never seems to stop talking. Put briefly, he's a distraction when he's being himself. Why can't he distract the criminals while I move in for the kill? Nobody would see me coming. They'd be too busy watching Dick somersaulting, jumping, swinging and throwing puns at them. Hmmmm...what was it he told me the night his parents died? His mother called him Robin because he flew so well and he was born on the first day of spring... Must ask Dick if he'd like to use that for his code-name...

Costuming shouldn't be too hard. Obviously he can't wear one of my suits and in any case, if he's to be a distraction he needs to be seen. Bright colors are more appropriate to a child in either case. Maybe something based on his circus costume? Same colors? Must be armored, though, like mine but not too heavy. Helmet of some kind for head protection? I can put together some prototypes and see how Dick likes them.

I'm almost afraid of how much I am looking forward to this.

After lunch was over, Alfred silently took the plates away. I invited Dick into my study and sat next to him on the couch.

"Dick, I've been thinking about your being my partner and you'll need a codename to keep your true identity a secret," I began. He nodded his head vigorously.

"Yeah, we wouldn't be safe if they knew who we were," he said. "How about...Bat-kid? Kid Bat? Bat Junior? I could wear black like you, and a cape and be spooky and scary like Batman!" He was clearly very enthused at his idea. It didn't seem to match his personality, though. Dick has such a...light...about him that his imitating a creature of the night just doesn't feel right. He's a child of the day.

"What about 'Robin'?" I asked. "Like 'Robin Hood'? It was your mother's nickname for you, too. You don't need to be menacing, that's my job. I was thinking that you could do what you do best-acrobatics, puns, distract the crooks and I'll clean them up. Your costume could be a variant of the Robin Hood costume, green, maybe with red and yellow, the colors of your circus costume. What do you think?"

He considered it. "Do I get a cape?"

"Yes, you get a cape," I gave in. "But not black, except maybe on the outside so you can blend into the shadows if you need to."

"Okay, Bruce," he said, face alight. "So when do we start training?"

I grinned back. "Tomorrow morning. 5:30 a.m. sharp!"


	8. Raising a Bat

CHAPTER 8

Zucco taken care of, thank goodness, I supposed it was time to send Dick to school. I reviewed the pamphlets for the better schools in Gotham and discussed it with Alfred.

"What do you think?" I asked him over the small pile.

"St. Catherine's seems to have a good preparatory program," he said, scanning the text.

"Yes, but it doesn't have much in its athletics program," I replied, handing him another pamphlet. "Gotham Junior Academy has classes in self-defense and gymnastics, even at the elementary school level. And it feeds into Gotham Academy at the middle school level, so Dick could get his college prep courses there."

Alfred nodded, eyes on the pamphlet. "So you are persisting in this crack-brained plan of yours to turn the boy into a crime fighter?"

"You know my reasons, Alfred," I said, reining in my temper. Because of our long friendship, only Alfred has the right to criticize me. And because of that long friendship, he can get to me like nobody else can. "In any case, Gotham Junior Academy has the kinds of classes that will keep Dick engaged. I do plan for him to attend college. He'll be my heir, so I want him to have a solid grounding."

"The next Batman as well?" Alfred said in a low tone.

"If that's what he wants, " I replied, refusing to be baited. "He'll be safe with me, Alfred. Trust me."

Alfred sighed, arms folded. "Gotham Junior Academy looks like a fine school, sir. Will there be anything else?"

"Yes, would you call Dick in so that I can tell him?"

Dick's reaction was less enthusiastic than I'd hoped. "I have to wear a uniform?" His lip curled. "Why can't I just stay home with Alfred and be home-schooled?"

Just then, I remembered that Dick had never attended a school before. He'd always been taught at home. "Are you worried because you've never been to school before?" I deliberately didn't use the word 'afraid'. Dick is a proud boy.

"Bruce, I won't know what to do or where to go or anything..." Dick admitted slowly. "All the other kids will already know each other..."

Dick had also been part of a close-knit circus family. He'd known everyone around him almost since birth; strangers were the rubes, the ones to watch out for, the dangerous ones. This was a completely new experience for him.

"Well, how about you try it for a month or two? If you're unhappy, you can stay home and we'll get you a tutor or figure something else out for you. I'm betting that you're going to make lots of friends and you'll find that you like school just fine once you get used to it."

I could watch the thoughts flit across his face. I was going to have to teach him a good poker face, too. He was too easy to read. Finally, he looked resigned.

"Okay, Bruce, I'll give it a try," Dick said, picking at the seams of the couch. "When do I start?"

"How about next Monday? Alfred will buy you a uniform and we'll go in together on your first day to meet your headmaster. All right?" I truly didn't want to distress him, but as my son Dick is now part of a larger world.

He didn't look up. "Okay," he said in a soft voice. This was a lot of change for him so soon after his parents' passing. I hoped that we weren't piling on too much too fast.

"And speaking of uniforms," I added, handing him a folder from the coffee table. "How about this for Robin?"

Dick opened it and saw the plan for the prototype Robin uniform. "Wow." There was a red tunic with yellow stitching and a black undershirt. Long black pants ended in matching boots. The cape was dull black with a shiny yellow lining. Black gauntlets and a black cowl completed it.

"See the lines of stitching?" I ran a finger down the image. "The uniform will be padded with protective fabrics, both bullet and fire resistant." I met Dick's eye. "But remember, bullet 'resistant' doesn't mean 'bullet-proof'. You can still get hit, injured or killed. I'll teach you how to dodge any missiles fired at you, the fabric is intended as an emergency back-up."

Eyes wide, Dick nodded. "The cowl looks like yours," he said. "Is it?"

"Pretty much," I said. "It'll have protective armor in it to protect you against head injury. The eyepieces will be opaque, like mine will. You can see out, but nobody can see your eye color. That will help to protect your identity."

"The boots...they look weird..." Dick studied the picture more closely. "They split at the toe..."

I smiled. "That's for ease in climbing. Since you're such a good rock climber, I thought you'd find that useful. Well? How about it?"

Dick nodded. "I like it. But where does it come from?"

"We can't really order it on E-Bay. So, Alfred makes part of it. You and I assemble the rest. You are going to learn how to sew."

Since we live secret lives, much of our costumes are individually tailored and constructed. We can't buy off the shelf for the most part.

Generally, I get the fabrics and armor through mail order catalogs, internet websites and other channels for the less available materials. Alfred, whose talents include expert tailoring, creates a pattern and cuts the fabric out. The construction is done through a combination of an industrial sewing machine/serger and old fashioned handwork. Oddly enough, the leatherworking skills I acquired in summer camp have come in handy. Gauntlets are individually sized and constructed, since I prefer them to be padded and weighted at the knuckles for obvious reasons, but the fingertips need to be sensitive enough for climbing. I designed Robin's gauntlets to have the same characteristics as mine.

Boots we tend to have made to order from a shoemaker who specializes in sporting gear for professional athletes. Our needs are similar enough to standard that there is no difficulty buying them and we can afford a personalized last for each person. I understand that the Queen of England buys her riding boots from the same company; another of Alfred's mysterious contacts.

The rest of the week was filled with tears and hilarity. Dick had watched his mother assemble costumes but had never picked up a needle himself. He had to unpick the stitches on his new costume three times before I would pass it as finished. He understands that he will need to be able to mend any part of his equipment by the time that we are done. It's hard enough to equip Batman that we have no room for waste. Everything is used and reused until no longer serviceable. I think Dick's beginning to understand that attention to detail lies at the heart of what we do. He looked frustrated at first and then resigned. Patience, not his strong suit, will have to be learned.

* * *

The costume was complete and Robin tried it on. The costume body itself was a good fit, with a long cape hanging behind. The boots also fit well. Then he donned the cowl. I saw Alfred in the corner of my eye, smiling indulgently and I had to agree with him. The kid looked dangerous but...cute. Really adorable, I'm afraid. I bit down my own sappy grin. Hopefully the criminals will react the same way; it could contribute to the boy's safety.

I had donned my own uniform. "Okay, Robin, let's try some moves."

He nodded, then stopped and frowned. "I'm having trouble seeing, Batman. The sides are cut off by the cowl...What did you call it?"

"Peripheral vision?" I asked, making a note of it. "Okay, come at me..."

He ran for me and I threw him, then we worked our way through various katas I had taught him. He stepped on his own cape at least twice and I located blind spots to his sides. Worse yet, all the fluidity and grace disappeared from his movements. I was able to take him much more easily than before the costume. I could see that Dick was getting impatient and angry.

"Darn it!" he finally said when I threw him the fourth time in succession. "I can't _see_ you, Bruce! It's this cowl! It cuts off my side view. And it's heavy, it slows me down! And the cape..." He picked up an edge and examined it, then sighed. "Can we make the cape shorter and not so full? I'm getting tangled in it."

I didn't want to let the cowl go, because it was protecting him, but I agreed to a run-through without it. "Okay, take off the cowl and cape, we'll go through it again."

Sure enough, without the extra weight and full peripheral vision, he became the Dick Grayson I knew: a gifted fighter who gave me pause. I got a scissors and cut a good six inches off the cape's bottom and found a domino mask I'd tried out early in my career. Fitted out with those, he moved much more easily. This time, he managed to keep out of my reach for a good ten minutes before I caught and tackled him. Much better.

We are in accord that this is the final version of Robin's costume. He'll work out in it from now on.

I wish that Dick's first days at school had gone as well. The first problem was that the pending adoption had somehow been made public.


	9. School

CHAPTER 9

That Monday I breakfasted quickly but neglected to read the morning newspapers. Dick, nervous about the upcoming school day, barely touched his cereal. I motioned to Alfred, who nodded. I knew that he would pack a substantial snack for the boy to eat later.

Dick's uniform was pressed to a sharpness only obtainable by a British butler. He was going to do Alfred proud. "Okay, Dick, shall we go?" I asked him.

Dick started and got up quietly. I led him to the Mercedes. When we were in the car, he gulped a bit and said, "Bruce, are you sure about this?"

"You'll do fine, Dick. You're one of the bravest boys I know," I said. "After facing down Tony Zucco and his thugs, this shouldn't be a problem." I was to regret those words later.

We arrived at Gotham Junior Academy to find dozens of reporters, cameras and camera vans and they were all aimed at us. I parked the car and we were instantly surrounded with flashbulbs going off like gun shots. I rested my hand on Dick's shoulder and elbowed our way through the pack. Dick flinched with every bulb that flashed and I quietly vowed to get some kind of revenge for the gauntlet he was forced to run on today of all days.

The headmaster held the door open for us as we scuttled into the main hallway of the school building. Mopping his bald head with a handkerchief, he stammered an apology. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Wayne. They were there this morning when I got here. I understand that the news has broken pretty spectacularly."

I raised an eyebrow. "News?"

He smiled unctuously. "Why, the adoption, of course. Congratulations, Richard," he said and held out a hand for Dick to shake. "I suppose we should change your admission paperwork to Wayne or Grayson-Wayne."

Dick looked up at me, eyes lucent blue.

"No, it'll stay Grayson for the time being," I said quickly. "It's true that I'm adopting Dick, but I hadn't planned a name change for him. He's very proud of his parents."

"Ah, the _circus_ stars," Mr. Evans said dismissively. "Well then, why don't we go into the counselor's office. She has some placement tests to give Richard.."

"Dick," came a small voice next to my elbow. "My name is _Dick_."

"Oh...oh yes," Evans said. "Of course, Dick. Anyway, you'll be doing some testing for the next hour or two. That will help us place you in a grade. Since you've been home-schooled up till now, we need to assess your knowledge and abilities." He looked up at me. "This will take a while, Mr. Wayne. If you'd like to leave and return for the final evaluation, you're welcome to..."

I was tempted. I had a desk full of unattended paperwork, but when I looked down at Dick's face, what I saw there melted my resolve like candle wax. "No, I think I'll stay with Dick, Mr. Evans. Would it be okay if I sit in on the testing?"

"Oh, by all means." Evans looked flustered and nervous. I'd guess that he considered me a clingy, helicopter parent. Well, let him. I wasn't letting Dick go on his own. He led Dick and I into the testing room.

There I sat in the back quietly for two hours while they gave Dick test after test, including a Stanford-Binet IQ test. Dick handled the stress well; he seemed relieved to be in a quiet room, although he glanced back at me from time to time, making sure I was still there.

Knowing how much he depended on me made me feel warm and...proud, I suppose. All I know is that I have been feeling more and more strongly that this boy is in my charge and that I will fight for him. I've felt protective before; I mean, that's how I feel about Gotham City. That it's my city. But with Dick, that emotion is even stronger, as though in protecting him I am somehow protecting something...someone...infinitely precious.

My extreme focus on my emotional state seems almost narcissistic, yet these feelings are so strong and so very new that I must understand them if I am to go on as Batman. I must know myself thoroughly if I am to use every capability to its full. Are these emotions a dangerous flaw that will weaken me? Dick looks up and smiles to see me still here. I feel that strange urge to smile, almost...happiness? at being there for the boy when I'm needed. I keep the warm smile off my face, but nod back pleasantly enough.

Dick finished the last placement test and handed it to the counselor. The headmaster's secretary brought a fruit juice for Dick and a coffee for me.

"So, how was it?" I asked, sipping coffee whose quality Alfred would scorn.

Dick took a long gulp of orange juice and wiped his mouth with a coat sleeve, then looked guiltily around to see if Alfred saw. I did smile now. I remembered Alfred's etiquette lessons when I was a boy. Dick smiled back, face flushed. "Not too bad. I knew all the answers. At least, I think I do." He stretched the fingers of his right hand. "I think I have terminal writer's cramp, though."

The counselor reappeared in the doorway smiling benignly with a red-headed girl at her elbow. "I'd like to discuss Richard's test results with you, Mr. Wayne," she said. "Barbara will take Richard to the library to wait for us."

I saw Barbara and Dick size each other up and each decide that the other was okay, then Dick went to follow her. He gave me one last look over his shoulder.

"Don't worry, chum," I said. "I'll be back with you in a minute or two."

When the door closed, the counselor sat down at the table and invited me to sit opposite her. "Well, Richard scores very well in language and reading skills, well beyond his age group. His grasp of mathematics is just as good. Although, by his age, he should be placed in the fourth grade, he is doing sixth grade work. Based on his work, that's where I'd put him." She held out another paper. "And then, there's this."

'This' was the Stanford-Binet test. I looked at the scoring and my eyes widened. A normal IQ is 100. Genius level is generally scored somewhere around 130; that's the cut-off for membership in Mensa, the high-IQ club. Dick scored at 172. I knew that he was a sharp boy, but this...

"I would advise as much enrichment as possible," the counselor was saying. "Try to support his interests as much as possible."

"I think I can do that," I said casually while mentally planning courses on forensics, chemistry, criminology and law for Dick. He should begin to study for his detective's license. He'd be ready in a few years, Robin would probably become the youngest licensed private investigator in the state.

"The school can assist, of course," she said. "We have an intensive language course that he would probably enjoy."

"It's a good time for him to start," I said. "He already speaks Rom, with bits of other languages." The news was just beginning to sink in. How do you raise a genius child? "Is there anything...different...about raising a child with so much intelligence?"

She smiled. "Just follow his lead, Mr. Wayne. Encourage him to read and explore the world he lives in. I wouldn't tell him that he's a genius, though. Let him be a kid."

I nodded dumbly. I hadn't planned to raise a genius. This makes my task both easier and harder-to keep an active and smart boy challenged but safe. My mission has fulfilled my intellectual and spiritual needs so far. Hopefully it will be enough for Dick.

"Mister Wayne?" I looked up and the counselor clearly had been trying to get my attention. I straightened.

"Excuse me, you were saying?" I asked with my most charming smile.

She flushed. "Oh...I was saying that we should discuss with Richard which grade he should be placed in. Although he is doing sixth grade work, socially he might do better in the fourth."

"I understand," I said. "Shall we get Dick?"

Dick and I talked it over. He was realistic about school. "Look, Bruce, I don't want to sit around bored every day. If I'm doing sixth grade work, I'm doing sixth grade work. I should probably be with the sixth graders."

"You'll be smaller than all the other kids in your class. Are you ready for that?" I asked. I remembered the bullies in my own school. They hadn't bothered me because I'd been taller than they were.

Dick just grinned. "I can handle bullies, Bruce. I'm a circus kid, remember?"

I was still feeling doubtful when I gave him the okay to become a sixth grader.

Dick was escorted to his classroom by the same red-haired girl, whom I now know to be Commissioner Gordon's newly adopted daughter, Barbara. I hope that this is a good omen for Dick. Apparently the girl is also in the sixth grade, so Dick has already made at least an acquaintance. I left Dick in her hands and continued on to the office.

* * *

That evening, Dick was non-committal about school. He merely shrugged when I asked him how class had gone. "Hard to tell," he answered my question. "Nobody talked to me, if that's what you mean." He picked at his dinner with his fork. "They all looked at me like I was something from the freak show."

Alfred moved in to refill Dick's iced tea. "Doubtless they are feeling shy," he said. "It will be better tomorrow."

The next day was quiet, but on the third day Dick came home with bruises on his face. Alfred and I exchanged concerned looks but Dick offered nothing.

"How was school today?" I asked him over dinner. Dick only mumbled something.

"What was that?" I asked, watching Dick swirl his mashed potatoes with his fork.

"Nuthin'..." Dick said, pushing his chair back from the table. "May I be excused? I have homework."

I sighed and traded a glance with Alfred. "All right. Go ahead."

The next morning, Dick's timing was off during our training session. He seemed preoccupied. Finally, I called a halt early. As I handed him a bottle of water, I asked again. "What's wrong, Dick?"

"It's not important..." he said and ran up the steps to the mansion.

The boy was harder to question than the Penguin! I sighed and made my way upstairs to find Dick huddled in a corner of his bedroom. I tapped on the half-open door and went in. Dick looked up, at first a welcoming smile greeted me to be promptly shut down by a sullen frown. Now, since the night I brought him home, I have never seen Dick Grayson sullen. I began to wonder whether I knew the boy at all. I could never force the information out of him; he's as stubborn as I am (or so Alfred says). I'd have to coax it out.

"Why don't you leave me alone...?" Dick mumbled and turned his head and his loose shirt slipped down. That's when I saw the bruise on his shoulder blade.

I had to tamp down the rage, hard. "Who hurt you?"

"Would you believe I walked into a door?" Dick asked, pulling the shirt back up.

I stifled a wry smile. "Not with that placement, no. Did somebody hit you?"

Dick looked at me, blue eyes averted. "A gang of somebodies. They've been calling me names since the first day. They don't want 'gypsy circus trash' in their precious school. They trailed me after gym and slammed me into an open locker door, then piled on me and kicked me." He took a long breath. "I'm such a wuss, Bruce. I was kicking and yelling and they just kept coming at me. There was nothing I could do."

I could feel the blood rushing to my face. "Sixth graders?" I asked. "From your class?"

Dick nodded, ashamed. "I'll understand if you want somebody different for Robin. If I can't deal with a bunch of sixth graders, I'm not much use against grown up crooks."

"Take your shirt off and let's see," I said. He was covered in bruises, each as dark and probably painful as the first one I saw. Dick is a small boy; he hasn't had his growth spurt yet. I'd guess that those sixth graders were taller and heavier than my boy; exactly what I'd feared when we advanced him beyond his age group.

He looked so crushed that I went over and knelt in front of him, hand on his shoulder. "How many were there?"

"Six," he said, eyes still averted. "I got one with a good kick before they took me down in a pile." He ran an arm under his nose. "I'll understand if you don't want me. I'm no use to you."

"Dick," I said. "Dick, look at me," I rested my hands on both his shoulders. "Have I said that I want to replace you? Or send you away?"

He shook his head 'no'.

"It's not your fault that you can't take down six boys who are bigger and taller than you are. I can teach you how to handle that, if you'll let me," I said. "You're fast and you're talented. Tomorrow we'll start working on that. And in the meantime, I'm going to make a call to the headmaster." I got up and moved over to the phone.

"Bruce?" Dick was still seated there, shirt twisted in his hands.

"Yes, Dick," I answered.

"I don't want to be a snitch. Don't call. Just show me what to do," he said, lips pursed. "I want to take care of them on my own."


	10. The Fight

CHAPTER 10

I studied Dick's earnest face, then nodded. "All right, I'll give you some training. I'll have Alfred call the school and report that you have a cold. We'll spend the day on it and see how you do tomorrow."

For the first time, there was a sparkle in Dick's eye. "You mean it?"

"I never say anything I don't mean. I'll meet you in the cave in an hour and we'll begin. Wear your school uniform, including shoes."

I left his room and ran down to Alfred's pantry, where he was frying eggs. "Breakfast is almost complete, sir. I shall be serving in a few minutes."

"We'd better keep it light this morning. I'll be training with Dick most of the day," I said, reaching out for a piece of toast. I barely escaped getting my hand slapped.

"Is the boy staying home, then?" Alfred asked.

"For today, yes. Dick finally broke down and told me what happened. Six kids cornered him and beat him up," I know that my face grew stony and Alfred's matched it. "You should see his bruises. They called him 'gypsy circus trash.' "My face must have grown even darker, because Alfred looked concerned.

"Then you are going to call that headmaster?" Alfred asked with his own dark expression. "And ensure that Master Dick is unmolested in future?"

"No, Dick says he wants to handle this himself. I've agreed to help him. Would you call the school and report that Dick has a cold today? Dick and I will training today."

Alfred smiled. "Good show, sir. Then Master Dick will trounce those bullies when next they meet?"

"I certainly hope so," I replied. "In any case, I'll make sure he has an escape route if they're too much for him. So, would you bring a light breakfast down to the cave? We'll eat there, then get started."

* * *

My first concern for Dick was that he was facing superior numbers. Even I don't charge into that kind of situation without a plan and it's taken years of training to enable me to handle it. As a beginner and because he is so small, his best choice is usually either to avoid the situation entirely or to run away. I had to try to explain this to a small boy with the heart of a lion. He had implicit faith that the great Batman could make him invincible. Flattering as that is, I needed him grounded in reality.

"Dick, you're outnumbered and that makes it difficult. The fact that the boys are bigger than you are puts you at more of a disadvantage." On the whiteboard, I drew an 'R' for Dick and X's for his assailants.

"Now, if you can't run, for whatever reason you need to fight, you have to work to your strengths. First, you're fast and nimble. You can dance around these bigger boys. Second, get close to them to land your blows. They have longer arms and want to hit you at their outer extension. If you get in close, it's harder for them to get you." I drew a stick figure of a tall, gangly man with a small figure with short arms pummeling the man's torso.

"Because you're outnumbered, you face the danger of them all piling on you simultaneously," I said and drew the 'R' in a circle of 'X's'. "And surrounding you."

"Yeah, like yesterday," Dick sighed. He sat stiffly, so I knew that his bruises were bothering him.

"Choose your ground. Fight in a narrow alleyway or hallway so that they have to line up to fight you one at a time. Back to the wall so that nobody can come from behind."

Dick's eyes narrowed and I could see him focusing. "What do I do if somebody does come from behind?"

"Be aware. Use all your senses. Peripheral vision, hearing, even smell if one of the boys has an odor," I said to Dick's grin. "It does happen. Sometimes they have body odor or a particularly repulsive aftershave. In any case, stay aware of your surroundings."

"It's a lot to remember," Dick said. "How long did it take you to get really really good?"

I gave him a crooked smile. "I'm still working on that. I don't think you're ever done learning. But I think you could become competent in a year or so."

He was silent a moment, then said reluctantly, "So, you think they're gonna kill me?"

_Not if I can help it!_ "This won't be easy," I answered. "But it's your fight and your decision. All right, let's try some practice."

"Another way to equalize things is to use a weapon," I said as we stood ready on the mat.

"But you hate guns," Dick protested. "And they'd never let me use one on campus anyway."

"No, not guns," I said. "A weapon can be anything that comes to hand. There's a reason I told you to wear your uniform. Take a look at your belt, for example."

Giving me a puzzled look, he slid it out of his pants and held it in both hands.

"The buckle is heavy and sharp and it's attached to the end of a long strip of leather, giving you reach. Used as a whip, you can do some damage without moving in close." I picked up the belt and snapped it at a fighting dummy. Dick's eyes widened at the gash I created in the dummy's ballistics gel face. "Or your shoe. How much do you think it weighs? You can throw it or use it as a club. Women have a greater advantage because spike heels can be vicious."

Dick just stared at his shoes, eyebrows raised. Then he looked back at me.

I flashed him a grin, my hands on my hips. "Okay, find me some weapons in the batcave and tell me how you might use them."

Dick proceeded to run through the cave, describing the havoc and mayhem he could wreak with simple items from a stapler to a desk chair to a trash can. Finally, he seemed to run out of steam.

"Very good, Dick," I said. "When you expect a fight, do a similar analysis on your surroundings in case you need it. Now, let's work on some moves."

We spent the rest of the day in the cave until Dick was exhausted and beyond exhausted. I can't fault his dedication; he truly did give me all he had and then some.

After Dick had gone to bed, Alfred approached me with a look of concern on his face. "Sir, is it really necessary that the lad fight these bullies?"

I rested aching muscles in my favorite easy chair. I had been asking myself the same question. "I don't know, Alfred. I respect Dick's choice. I don't want to hurt his spirit by benching him, especially now when he's just beginning to see himself as Robin."

"I don't suppose that you will...er...be in the neighborhood, as it were..." Alfred said delicately.

I smiled ruefully. "I've already looked the place over. I'll be in the neighborhood, but I can't be seen or I risk Dick's identity and mine. But if I see a danger to Dick's life, I'll jump in."

Alfred gave me a relieved smile. "Very good sir."

* * *

Dick slept better that night than I did. No nightmares for him that I was aware of, but I kept dreaming of Dick with head injuries, broken bones...Do all parents go through this? Or is it simply that I've seen so much violence on a daily basis that I can't escape the fear of it taking someone important to me?

I arrived at Gotham Junior Academy and hid myself long before the start of the school day. Alfred had instructions to tell Dick that I had an early meeting.

I watched Alfred drop Dick off that morning. The boy looked confident, if tense. The joke would surely be on us all if the bullies had found other prey and given up on Dick.

I followed my boy's day at a distance, watched him exchange a few words with other children. He seems to be picking up a friendship with Jim Gordon's girl, Barbara. It's good to see Dick settling in.

Gym class was set at the end of the day. As the children were coming in from the playing field, I heard loud voices.

"Yeah! This school will let just anybody in these days. Even stinkin' carnies!" A young voice called after Dick, who was moving swiftly for the building. A second young voice joined in.

"And how didja persuade old moneybags Wayne to adopt you, _Dick?_ Was it because you're a _dick_, Dick?" Loud, braying laughter followed.

I could see a pack of boys following Dick now, each was taller and heavier than my boy. I saw Dick looking around and applauded his choice of a place to make his stand. He ducked toward a three-sided alcove with a large dumpster in it. There was a space, three feet by ten between the side of the dumpster and the school building's exterior wall. Open to the sky, it would allow Dick to use his climbing skills to advantage.

Dick moved in next to the dumpster and turned to face the boys. He didn't look afraid, just very focused.

The first boy, the tallest, approached him still shouting insults. "So, _Dick_, what does a carny have to do to get adopted, huh? Steal his wallet?"

"I'll give you one chance to leave me alone," Dick said solemnly. "Then you'll be sorry."

The boys started laughing. While the first one was half-turned away from him, sharing the laugh with his cronies, Dick attacked. He got in close and gave the boy a good jab in the solar plexus with a small fist and kept punching. All the air went out of Laughing Boy and he fell onto the boy behind him.

Two more boys, seeing what had happened to their leader, charged Dick but got tangled in the first two. They didn't land a hit before Dick had kicked the first one in the knee. He grabbed onto the side of the dumpster, lifted himself into the air and gave a flying kick to the collarbone of the second.

While the injured boys were yelping, my boy moved on the final two bullies. They just looked at the fierce expression on Dick's face, his fighting stance and balled fists. They both turned and ran for the teacher.

While Dick silently watched the two run away, the original bully had gotten his wind back. He and his friend stepped over the injured ones, ready to attack from behind. I was getting ready to move in, when I saw that Dick had an ally. Standing on top of the retaining wall, was Barbara Gordon.

She was still clad in her gym outfit but had gotten her book bag from her locker. Before Laughing Boy could jump my son, Barbara came off the wall in a flying tackle, book bag held in front of her for extra wallop. She had bowled the two attackers over and was thumping both of them in the back and shoulders with Dick's help by the time the teacher came out, led by the two runaways.

Twenty minutes later I received a telephone call from the school asking me to meet with the principal about my new son's propensity for fighting.


	11. On the Carpet

CHAPTER 11

When I arrived at the headmaster's office an hour later, I saw that I wasn't the only parent who had been called in.

"Jim Gordon! What are you doing here?" I gave him a firm handshake, then took a seat in the waiting area.

"Heh. I could ask you the same thing, Bruce," Gordon replied, sitting down again. "I got called in because Barbara was caught fighting."

I raised an eyebrow. "Your niece? The one who studies ballet?"

Gordon shrugged. "She's also been taking karate. I still don't know quite what happened; the principal wanted to wait until I was in the office. How about you? I read about the adoption in the paper."

"It's still making its way through the system, but yes, I'm adopting Dick. He's a great kid, but he's been having trouble with bullies lately. I gave him a few self-defense pointers." I settled back in my chair, feeling a sense of satisfaction in how well Dick had handled the entire thing.

"Well, the way the principal sounded on the phone, you'd think Babs was training to be Batman or something..." Gordon said calmly. I shot him a glance, but didn't see any reason for concern.

Shortly thereafter, the secretary let us into the headmaster's office. Seated there were two abashed looking kids. Barbara Gordon sat sullenly, lower lip stuck out and eyes blazing as brightly as her hair. Dick...he looked worried. He looked up at me with entreaty when I entered, as though afraid I'd be angry about this visit. I flashed him a reassuring smile as I took the chair offered me by the headmaster. Gordon was seated next to me.

"Gentlemen, I am truly sorry to have to call you into my office about your children. As I said to each of you earlier, your children apparently teamed up and seriously injured several other children on the playground today," the headmaster cast a raking look at Dick and Barbara. "Three of the boys involved were taken to the hospital. One had a cracked collarbone, the other a dislocated knee-cap. The third broke his nose when Richard and Barbara pushed him down and began hitting him. Since you are both single fathers, I felt that we should confer."

I leaned back in my chair, fingers steepled. "Are you saying that because Jim and I are both single parents that our children are somehow at fault?"

"The children who were victimized each said that Dick started the fight," the headmaster said firmly. "Now, given Dick's...unusual...background, I think it very possible. And you only took custody of the boy recently; he may have emotional problems you're completely unaware of..."

I stood, focusing what Dick calls my 'bat-glare' full at the headmaster. "I know my son very well and he's a fine boy. Are you aware that these so-called victims have been bullying Dick for the better part of a week?" I turned to my son. "Dick?"

He nodded and removed a small tape recorder from his pocket, setting it on the principal's desk. At my gesture, Dick turned it on.

Loud voices came from the speaker:

"Yeah! This school will let just anybody in these days. Even stinkin' carnies!" A young voice called after Dick, who was moving swiftly for the building. A second young voice joined in.

"And how didja persuade old moneybags Wayne to adopt you, _Dick?_ Was it because you're a _dick_, Dick?" Loud, braying laughter followed. Then came sounds of movement, followed by the first voice.

"So, _Dick_, what does a carny have to do to get adopted, huh? Steal his wallet?"

"I'll give you one chance to leave me alone," Dick's voice said. "Then you'll be sorry."

We heard the sounds of malicious laughter, then the sounds of fighting until the teacher arrived. I reached over to the principal's desk, then turned the recorder off.

"Dick, come over here," I motioned to my son. "Did you throw the first punch?"

He nodded. "Yes sir."

"Why?"

"Because they were gonna beat me up again," he said stolidly. "Just like before."

"Did you ask Babs and Dick why they were in the fight?" I asked the headmaster.

"Well...yes, but since the affected boys have been at this school for such a long time and all come from good families..." the headmaster sputtered.

"And Dick is a gypsy from a circus, whose parents were recently murdered," I supplied, my voice bone dry. "You assumed that he must be at fault, coming from such questionable antecedents as he does..."

"Now wait a minute," Jim broke in, glaring at the headmaster as well. "Babs' only crime here is being a new student who helped another student stand up to a pack of bullies. She told me yesterday that these fine, upstanding young men from the best families jumped Dick and beat him black and blue. She said that if she ever saw anything like that again, she was going to help him." He glanced at his daughter, eyes blazing. "Now, her family may not be stuffed with millionaires, but she knows right from wrong."

The headmaster puffed himself up and glared back. "I have no proof that anything happened to Richard. No one reported any incident of bullying against him."

"Dick, come here," I motioned to him. He came to stand next to me and I put him next to the principal. "Take off your shirt, son," I said. Dick cast an embarrassed glance at Barbara, then removed his gym-shirt. Both Gordon and the headmaster sucked in a breath when they saw the pattern of bruises that covered the boy's chest and back. "Dick, did those boys do this to you?"

"Yes sir," Dick said calmly. "They jumped me and started kicking me when I was on the ground."

"When did this happen?" I handed Dick his shirt back and he shrugged it on.

"Couple days ago. They said they didn't want any 'Gypsy trash' at their school," Dick said.

"Mr. Evans, it seems to me that you have a problem that goes deeper than bullying," Gordon drawled at Evans. "It sounds like this school may have a civil rights problem as well, since it's allowing groups of young toughs to commit hate crimes against one of your students because of Dick's ethnicity. There are laws against that, you know. Especially since you seem anxious to punish Dick for something that wasn't his fault..."

The headmaster just looked up at Gordon and I, both of us radiating cold anger.

"I...I...suppose that this might be a misunderstanding..." Evans jittered, suddenly nervous as he contemplated the lawsuits. "I'll consider further action against the other boys. But as for Richard.."

"Dick. My name is Dick!" I heard my son enunciate carefully.

Evans cleared his throat. "As for Dick, I think that we can consider the matter closed."

We both heard Gordon harrumphing and Evans went on. "And young Barbara too. No negative repercussions for her either. It's clear that she was helping young Ri...Dick defend himself. We can consider the matter closed."

He stood and hurried the lot of us out of the office.

Once we were out in the hallway, Gordon gave a low chuckle. "That'll show that stuffed shirt!" He laid a hand on Barbara's shoulder. "Babs, I'm proud of you."

She flushed and looked up at him with a smile. "Really? I'm glad." She nudged Dick. "And I'm sorry I got involved in your fight, but that kid, Gary, was about to jump you..."

Dick grinned back. "I know. I'm glad you got him first. That was a great move with the back pack!"

I quirked a smile at both children. "In celebration of a couple of battles won, how about ice cream? I'm treating. Jim?"

Jim laughed out loud. "I'd never turn that down. Babs and I'll follow you over. She might want to put on her street clothes first." For the first time, Barbara seemed to realize that she was wearing only her gym shorts and shirt. She blushed and nodded vigorously.

"How about we meet at Farrelli's in half an hour?" I suggested, to everyone's agreement.

* * *

I haven't been to Farrelli's since my twelfth birthday but it hasn't changed much. They still have obscenely huge ice cream desserts, strolling magicians and balloon artists. Looking at the circus atmosphere, Dick's entire being lit up. As the hostess, dressed as a mime, escorted us to our table I could see Dick craning his neck, trying to take it all in.

"Do you like it?" I asked.

Dick simply gave a low-voiced "Yeah..." as a balloon artist approached our table. The man was completing a balloon elephant when the Gordons arrived.

Gordon and I sat together on one side of the table, the kids on the other. It was clear that Dick and Barbara were getting along well from the chatter I overheard. The two had decided to share a giant confection called a "Hog Trough". When I saw the size of the mountain of ice cream it contained, I knew I'd have to explain to Alfred why Dick wasn't eating dinner tonight.

"I'm so glad that Barbara has found a friend," Gordon said while he ate his scoop of ice cream. "She's been pretty lonely since she came to live with us, even though she has my son James for company."

Gordon had just said exactly what I was thinking: how good it was that Dick had found a friend. He's had so many losses, the friendship of other children among them. I planned to encourage Dick's friendship with Barbara Gordon and young James as well.

We parted cheerfully and I drove a very full Dick Grayson home, feeling very satisfied at the way the day had gone. Fortunately for Dick and especially for me, I had telephoned Alfred before we went for ice cream and told him of our plans. He had made the obvious assumption and wasn't surprised or upset that neither Dick nor I was hungry for dinner. He did, however, want a blow by blow description of the fight.

The three of us sat around the kitchen table drinking tea while Dick gave us a detailed description of his showdown with the bullies, complete with sound effects. I followed up with a report of the meeting with the principal. By the end of the evening, both Dick and I were favored by Alfred's approving smile.

After Dick had gone to bed, I went into my study to go through the day's mail. I was reveling in my cheerful mood, a rare occurrence before Dick's arrival, when I came to the final envelope. It was a heavy one with an attorney's return address. I read through the documents inside and felt my new happiness shattering into pieces.

Relatives of Dick's had filed an objection to my adopting him. They were asking the court that my boy's custody be given to them immediately.


	12. Family and Blood

Author's note: For those of you who asked whether I was repeating the story where 'Uncle George' gets custody of Dick-when I plotted this story, I'd never heard of 'Uncle George'. Well, I've read him now and there are similarities but I've opted not to change my story from its original form.

CHAPTER 12: Family and Blood

I read the documents again and again. I descended to the batcave and re-checked the name in the computer. My research in the probate, census and birth/death records confirmed the connection.

Richard John Loyd II, called 'Richie' by the family, is a second cousin to Mary Loyd Grayson. They share an ancestor. Mary's great-grandfather, 'Richard John Loyd', aka Dick Loyd, was Richard II's grandfather. The family money had been left to Richie, rather than to Mary because she eloped with a gypsy trapeze artist.

This was the second cousin who hadn't wanted Dick all those months ago. I could try to fight this, but I knew that I would be at a disadvantage and, in any case this is probably the best course for Dick. Richie Loyd has a blood tie to the boy that I'm discovering I love as a son.

As I considered my options, a quiet voice inside asked me whether it wouldn't be better for Dick to go to his own family... And yet...and yet...I know to the bottom of my soul that Dick is _my_ family. He belongs with _me._

The worst thing of all was that I'd have to tell Dick.

* * *

The Next Morning-5:30 a.m.

Dick was already warming up when I dragged myself down to the cave. The little bit of sleep I had had was broken by my worry.

My boy greeted me with a broad smile and a round-off to a flip off the equipment. Then he ran to give me a hug. Normally, I'm not very demonstrative but this morning I hugged him back for dear life. God! I couldn't lose this boy...

I sat Dick down on the bench and looked him in the eye. Something in my manner must have warned him that I had bad news.

"What is it, Bruce? What's wrong?" he asked.

"Well, Dick," I said, trying to smile. "There's been some news. It looks like your family wants you after all. Your cousin, Richie, wants to adopt you." This was good news for Dick, after all.

Dick's face changed, with a mixed expression of anger and disbelief. "Cousin Richie? He's the one that got Mom in trouble with her family because she married Dad. He'd be the last one to want me!"

I pulled a letter from the sheaf of papers I'd brought with me and handed it to Dick. "He sent this for you."

Dick read it slowly, face tightening with distaste. I had already committed it to memory. "Dear Richard," it read. "I just found out about the tragic accident and am very sorry about your Mom and Dad. I want to offer you a place in my home with myself and your aunt Debbie. I'll be working hard to get the court papers taken care of quickly so that we can adopt you as our own son. We don't have any children, so you can be our very own little boy. Your cousin, Richie Loyd."

Dick handed back the letter. "I don't believe him," he said. "Mom said that Richie was the one who got the family to cut her off. She said he'd always wanted Great-Grampa's money; she didn't care about that, but her parents would never speak to her again after she married Dad, even after I was born."

"He might regret that," I said, trying to force cheerfulness into my voice. "People do change."

Dick's face changed again. "This means I'll have to leave here, doesn't it?" He searched my face. "I don't want to leave you and Alfred...Can't you do something, Bruce?"

I gave a long sigh and rubbed my face with a hand. If it were a criminal that needed apprehension, I'd just go take care of it. Even if it were a corporate issue, I could sic a pack of lawyers on it. But this...The juvenile court system is bigger than Bruce Wayne, for all his money. "I'll try, chum," I said. "I'll try very very hard to keep you with me. But, living with a family, having a mother and father may be the best thing for you."

He cast me a look that implied I'd taken leave of my senses. "Bruce...I want to stay _here_. I want _you_ to be my Dad, nobody else."

"I'm meeting with my lawyer this morning, son," I said. "We'll figure this out, somehow."

It was a sad boy that Alfred drove to school that morning. He later reported to me that, when Dick stepped out of the limo, the six boys scattered and ran as far away from him as they could. At least one problem had been solved. Now for the new one.

* * *

I met with Rae Green that morning and she didn't have good news for me.

"The Social Services department has an internal policy favoring blood relatives over any other type of caretaker. The judge has already issued an order transferring custody to Mr. Loyd," Rae said.

"But what about my adoption petition?" I asked. "It's already in process, isn't it?"

"We've filed the beginning paperwork, yes. The trouble is, the system requires a home study to ensure that you can care for the boy. That process has only just started. Once the report issues, then we go to court to finalize the adoption, but only after you've had Dick in your home for six months or more."

"He's only been with me for four months," I said. "If he's moved to Loyd's..."

"Loyd's six month compliance period starts and, because he's a blood relative, his petition to adopt will be given precedence." She must have seen the look of desperation on my face, because she added, "I'll be petitioning the court to place Dick with you again because yours is the only home he's known since his parents were killed. But Bruce," I could see compassion and sympathy in her eyes. "I don't think you should set your heart on this boy. If you want to be a father, we can find another child and arrange an independent adoption..."

"It's too late, Rae," I said, thinking of Dick's face the day his parents died. "I don't want another child. I want this one."

* * *

Dinner that evening was quiet. Alfred listlessly served us a gourmet dinner that neither Dick nor I could eat. Dick went upstairs to do his homework while I sat in my study watching the fire. Alfred brought me a cup of tea.

"You know sir, that this is probably the best thing for him," he said softly, putting down the tray.

"I know," I said. "It's logical. But it's not right."

"No, sir, it is not," Alfred replied. He paused a moment, listening to the silence of the huge house. "This place was actually beginning to feel alive again. The sound of young footsteps brought life...energy..."

"Light," I said bitterly. "He brings light to the place." I slumped in the wing chair. The firelight suddenly seemed faded.

"When must we turn him over?" Alfred asked.

"The day after tomorrow," I said. "I have to take him to the Social Services' office. I'll be meeting 'Richie' Loyd then." I felt a hand rest on my shoulder and looked at Alfred, my oldest friend.

"Bear up, sir," he said. "And have faith. Things may yet work out."

I nodded dumbly and stood. "I think I'll say goodnight to Dick."

* * *

Dick was in his pajamas, sitting on his bed with a glum expression. I can't say that mine was any more cheerful.

"Hey, chum," I said. "Thought I'd say goodnight."

"This means I can't be Robin now, doesn't it," he said, staring at the floor.

"Nothing's been decided permanently," I said.

"No, but it will be," he said, refusing to meet my eyes. "Grownups make their own decisions, then tell you it's for your own good. But they never ask kids what they want. I thought..." His voice started trembling. "I thought I was...home..." He scrubbed at his eyes with his pajama sleeve. "And...I'd...never have to leave."

"I'm sorry, Dick," I said and pulled him close. "I don't want to lose you either."


	13. Bereft

CHAPTER 13: Bereft

Late that night, I heard him crying in his bed. Somehow this bothered me more than all the nightmares he'd had since he'd come to stay with Alfred and me.

I opened his bedroom door. "Dick?" I called softly. "Are you all right?"

I saw the blanket-covered lump in his bed move a bit and heard a long sniffle before he poked his head out. His hair, never very tidy despite all Alfred's attempts at order, stuck out in all directions. "I'm okay," said a small voice. "But...d'you think it would be okay if I stayed with you tonight?"

"C'mon, then." I pulled the blanket off and hoisted Dick over my shoulder while he started to giggle. I walked into my bedroom and tossed him onto the bed. "But you better not snore."

"I don't snore," Dick said archly. "You do." He burrowed under the covers with just his eyes showing.

I climbed in next to him and he graciously allowed me some blanket and half a pillow. "It'll be okay, Dick. You may not live with me anymore, but I'll still be your friend. If you ever need me for anything, I'll be there for you."

Dick didn't say anything and after a while I assumed he'd fallen asleep. Later, I was convinced of it when most of my blankets migrated to his side of the bed and a small body cuddled up to me. So this was fatherhood, I thought to myself. Love, then plenty of pain. But even if I lost Dick forever, I truly couldn't say I regretted having been his father , however short the time.

Dick shivered and snuggled in closer; it was a cold night. I tucked my remaining blankets around his sleeping form. I'd find some way to make sure he was all right and I'd be there if he needed me.

* * *

Dick and I spent the next day together. There was no point in sending him to school since he'd be going somewhere else very soon. We revisited Dick's favorite places in the manor grounds, had ice cream at Farelli's, spent time in the Batcave but none of it did any good. Neither of us could escape the fact that tomorrow he was leaving, probably forever.

The next day, Dick was working out downstairs, and I watched Alfred pack Dick's belongings into a new suitcase. The old backpack wouldn't have held all the new clothing the boy had acquired.

"I am sorry to see the lad go," Alfred said, neatly folding Dick's new dress slacks and placing them into the bag. "Does Ms. Green hold out any hope at all?"

I sighed. "Very little. But there's always the chance that these relatives will decide that they don't want a child after all. We'll continue with the paperwork and be ready to move quickly if we can establish any reason at all to remove Dick from their custody."

Last of all, Alfred took the stuffed elephant off the bed and tucked her into the top of the bag where Dick could find her easily. Already the boy's room seemed vast and empty of my boy's presence. I put my hand into my pants pocket, finding my own parting gift to Dick there.

* * *

Downstairs, I found that Dick had finished his workout and sat dejectedly on the bench, towel draped around his neck. "Hey there," I said. "Good workout?"

He looked up at me and shrugged. "I wanted to go up on the traps again, just one more time. I don't think Uncle Richie has a trapeze for me to practice on."

Another ending for him, then. Once he stopped practicing, he'd lose that perfect edge of skill that made him a flying Grayson and all the joy that flying gave him. My hand clenched into a fist at the frustration of it all and found my gift to him again. "Dick, I have something for you," I said, drawing it out of my pocket. "It's something WayneTech has been working on. Yours is the first one." I handed it to him and he took it.

"A cell phone?" he asked, looking it over curiously.

"A new kind of cellphone," I said. "It has double the range and never needs recharging." A bit of Kryptonian technology that formed the basis of League comm-links had created this new cell phone. One feature special to Dick's phone is that it transmits audio and video continuously. I intended to keep an eye on my boy, from a distance if necessary, to make sure he was treated well. The GPS embedded in the phone was also League-issue with pinpoint accuracy. Batman would find his Robin anywhere in this solar system.

"My number is the first speed dial," I took the phone and demonstrated it to him. "You can text or call me any time, for any reason," I said. "Don't tell your cousin about the special functions, though. For now, it's just your phone, okay?"

Smart boy, he knew what I was getting at and promptly nodded and put it in his pocket. "Okay, Bruce," he said. "But you're still gonna keep trying to adopt me, aren't you?"

"I won't stop trying, chum," I said firmly. "I have a team of lawyers working on it and I absolutely will not stop until you're home again." I looked at my watch. It was time. "Are you ready to go?"

"Yeah, I guess so," he said, running an eye around the batcave. "You be careful yourself, okay? Batman still needs backup. Batman still needs a Robin and it's okay if you adopt some other kid..." He cocked his head to one side. "Just...don't love him more than me..." he entreated. I hugged him hard, resting my chin on his head.

"Nobody can replace you, chum," I whispered to him. "And I'm not giving up on this, Dick."

* * *

An hour later, Alfred dropped us off at the Department of Social Services. Dick gave Alfred a long hug and I could see the old man's eyes fill with tears as he let the boy go. "Don't forget us, lad," Alfred said. "I packed some stationery and stamps so that you can write to us. Correspondence is an old and honorable art."

"I'll write, Alfie," Dick said. "I promise." He followed me into the office, rolling his suitcase after, with a long look back over his shoulder at Alfred. I can't say who was tearier eyed, my butler or my...son...

We soon arrived in Miss Simms' office. Dick sat as close to me as the two chairs allowed, the suitcase with all his belongings set behind us.

"Hello, Richard, and how are you today?" she asked brightly. "Are you ready to meet your cousin?"

Dick's glare in return clearly conveyed his unspoken 'Who are you kidding, Lady?' Simms tidied the stack of paper on her desk and briskly got up.

"Well, your cousin and his wife are waiting for you already in one of our visiting rooms. Why don't we go and see him." She moved forward, holding out a skinny hand for Dick to take. Dick, normally a very polite child, refused and draggled along behind her. His right hand stretched behind him and found my left. Damn it, let Richie Loyd see from the outset how things are, I decided. I took my boy's hand and clasped it firmly, the two of us led into the lion's den. Together.

Richie was in his thirties with dishwater blond hair and a stringy moustache. He weighed maybe a hundred fifty pounds soaking wet. His clothing was of high quality, but well-worn and not in the current fashion. His wife, Debbie, had bleach blonde hair with the roots showing mouse brown. Her pantsuit said nouveau riche or...pretending. I'd guess that the designer label purse and shoes were counterfeits. The flashy wedding ring certainly was cubic zirconia; I'd say diamonique. I wondered whether she knew it was a fake and decided that she probably didn't.

I pasted on a smile and reached out my right hand. "Hello, I'm Bruce Wayne and this is Dick Grayson. How do you do?"

I was able to get Dick to offer them his right hand with a bit of a glare and a tug and release with my left hand. " 'Lo," was all he said, his head bowed.

Something I couldn't identify moved in Richie's eyes. He crouched down in front of Dick. "Well, now. It's good to meet Mary's boy at last. Are you ready to go home with Debbie and me? We're living now in my Granpa's house; your great-grandfather. It's where your Mom and I grew up."

Dick looked straight ahead and gave him a cool look of assessment. I could see that the boy was running over everything he'd been told about his mother being drummed out of the family and disinherited because of this man. I tensed, waiting for the explosion but Dick simply said nothing and didn't move.

Richie stood and ignored Dick. "Miss Simms, I hope you don't mind but it's a long drive to Metropolis. Okay if we take the boy and go home now?"

Simms just nodded. "Richard's suitcase is in the other room. I'll just go get it." She turned to me. "Mr. Wayne, you can say goodbye to the boy now if you wish."

Dick looked uncomfortable with the Loyds there, but Richie showed no signs of moving. I pulled my boy over to the corner and knelt down to his level, holding him by the elbows.

"Son, don't forget what I told you," I murmured. "If you need _anything_, call me. You have my e-mail address, you can text me or write to Alfred. You aren't losing us. We'll always be friends, Dick." My mind added a silent 'even if we can't be family.'

Dick, big blue eyes swimming with tears launched himself forward into my arms. Both of us had wet cheeks by the time Richie Loyd broke in, "We're burning daylight here, Mr. Wayne. It's time we got on the road. Finish your goodbyes, Richard, and let's go."

Richie grabbed Dick by the hand and hustled him out of the room. My boy and I retained eye contact as I followed them down to the parking garage in the basement. There, I watched Richie heave Dick's suitcase into the trunk of a ten year-old Camry while Debbie put my boy into the back seat and strapped him in. Dick managed to twist in his seatbelt and catch my eye through the rear window.

My last view of the boy I'd give my fortune to call son, was of big mournful blue eyes trying to catch a last glimpse of me. Richie hit the gas and the car was soon out of the garage and on its way.

I stood there a long time, jaw working, until I became aware that Alfred was standing next to me. Neither of us spoke because our emotions were beyond words. Silently, we turned and walked toward the limo to drive our silent and lonely way home.


	14. Dick's First Day

CHAPTER 14: Dick's First Day

I went on patrol that night but don't remember any of it. When I returned to the batcave just before dawn, I sat down to play the recorded transmissions from the phone, but first checked on what it was recording in real-time.

The phone must have been sitting on a counter or chest of drawers, because the camera was facing a twin bed in a small room. Moonlight coming through the undrawn curtains gave the place a half-light. The figure in the bed moved restlessly, then began fighting with the blankets. I heard Dick's voice yelling, "No! Mom! Dad! No!..." He was having one of his nightmares.

The door opened and cousin Richie, dressed in shorts and a sleeveless undershirt stalked over to Dick's bed. He grabbed the blankets and pulled them off the boy, shouting. "Hey! Hey you! Stop making so much noise, willya? I gotta go to work tomorrow and I need my sleep!" He leaned over and shook the boy. Dick, reacting with some of the instincts I'd been training into him, socked Richie in the jaw before sitting bolt upright with his blue eyes open.

"Dad...?" he asked, searching the unfamiliar room.

Richie got up off the floor, rubbing his chin. "No, I'm not your Dad!" He moved to the light switch on the wall and light soon flooded the room. Dick sat in a battered-looking twin bed with a dingy blanket . The wallpaper was faded and pulling away from the walls, clearly it had been quality once but had seen better days.

Dick blinked at the angry man. "I'm sorry," he said sincerely. "I..I was dreaming of my folks and then you shook me. I thought you were Zucco..."

"I don't care if you thought I was Santa Claus. You want a roof over your head? I gotta work in the morning. So if you have to have nightmares, keep 'em to yourself!" Richie turned on a heel and left the room. Dick's eye caught the cell on his dresser. He sighed and turned over in bed, pulling the covers over his head. I heard the faint sound of sobbing as Dick cried himself to sleep.

I turned off the audio, allowing the machine to continue recording. Of course, not all men make good parents, even the ones who want to be. But I needed to know more about Richie Loyd. I picked up the phone and dialed a number for the Metropolis area.

"Yeah...?" a groggy voice answered.

"Clark, I need some research done," I replied.

"Res...Bruce, do you know what _time_ it is?" I heard the telephone receiver being dropped, then retrieved.

I checked my watch. "It's 3 a.m., Clark," I said calmly. "You don't need much sleep anyway. You're Kryptonian."

"That doesn't mean I don't _like_ to sleep occasionally...Anyway, what is this all about?! No...wait...I'll be over there in a minute..." The phone dropped again.

A slightly rumpled Superman with a five o'clock shadow grumped his way into the batcave. I have often regretted giving him the location of the secret entrance, but still find it logical to allow him entrance for reasons of work efficiency.

"All right, Bruce, just what is going on?" Superman demanded.

"You remember that I planned to adopt Dick Grayson?" I asked.

"Yes, I do. I did an exclusive about it," Superman said impatiently. "So what's up? Is the kid okay?"

"That's debatable," I said, leaning against the bank of computers. "Some relatives came out of the woodwork demanding custody. They're fighting the adoption." I paused. I hate asking for favors. I hate being beholden to anyone for anything. "Dick's staying with them now and something doesn't add up. Richard John Loyd, Dick's second cousin refused custody when notified of the Graysons' death. But once word of the adoption hit the newspapers, they appeared and want Dick. Something doesn't add up here. I need to know more about them." I raised my head to meet Clark's eyes. "They live in Metropolis."

Superman nodded. "So, you can't investigate as yourself or Bruce Wayne will look like a stalker. Whereas I, the investigative reporter am more likely to turn something up quietly. You think they're going to try to extort money out of you?"

I cracked a half smile. "I wish it were so easy. If they just told me how much they wanted, I'd write the check like a shot! And it still might be an extortion attempt, but I want to know whether it's just greed that's motivating them or something more." I turned toward the recorder. "In any case, I want to find out as quickly as I can...for Dick's sake." I rewound and played Dick's nightmare waking. When the playback had finished, Superman eyed me closely.

"One grumpy man isn't necessarily abusive, Bruce. Some of us really do have to earn a living out there and a good night's sleep is pretty important. Don't you think you're overreacting a bit?"

"I don't know, Clark. The computer searches I've done just aren't enough. This will take footwork that I can't do. This isn't logical, but look this guy up, will you?"

I could see that Clark was hiding a smile at the Batman actually asking for help. I hate that, but this is important.

He finally said, "All right. For you, I'll do it. I'll let you know what I find out. Now, I'm going back home to bed." He left in a whoosh of air.

I decided to get some sleep as well. As I climbed into my comfortable bed and helped myself to both pillows and all the blankets, I couldn't help wondering about a young boy miles from home.

* * *

I spent the following day in the batcave, listening and watching the transmissions from Dick's phone. A few times Alfred came in with a worried look on his face. He generally dropped off some food or coffee, then silently returned to the house. I knew he was worried about me, but it didn't matter. I had to make sure Dick was okay.

I had bedded down in the batcave, a common enough occurrence for me. I woke at 7:30 a.m. when a woman in a blue bathrobe, Debbie, I presume, came to wake Dick.

"C'mon, you gotta get up. I'm taking you to school then going to work myself. I gotcha breakfast at the table."

" 'Kay," Dick muttered and dressed, then stuffed the phone into his pants pocket. After a quick breakfast, (Pop-Tarts, I think) he was dropped off at the local public school and left to find his way to the office. Once there, the counselor didn't bother with testing, but assigned Dick to the fourth grade based on his age.

"But I was doing sixth grade work at my old school," Dick protested. "I'm going to be really bored in the fourth."

"It's good for your social development that you stay with your peer group," a disinterested voice replied. "If you get bored, read a book."

The rest of the day was uneventful, so I worked on other projects. When the school day ended, Dick took a bus to his new home and managed well enough. That night, he had no homework, so he sat with Loyd and his wife watching sit-coms on television. The sounds of the laugh track grated on my ears, then I heard the sound of movement. Dick had obviously gotten bored as well and was turning cartwheels in the house's long hallway.

Abruptly, I heard a *slap*, then Dick's voice, "Ow! What's that for? You made me fall!"

"None of that circus crap!" Loyd's angry voice came through, then the picture suddenly lightened as the cell dropped out of the boy's pants pocket. "Now what's this?" He bent over, picked up the cell and studied it closely. "This looks like one of those new phones. Really expensive." He turned it over. "WayneTech, huh? So, that foster-dad of yours gave you a six hundred dollar smartphone, did he? An eight year old boy?" He stabbed a finger at the keypad and found the speed dial. "His number's first, is it?"

I saw his face suffuse with rage as he turned to Dick. "You don't need electronic toys like this. Not here and not now, brat."

"If you don't like me, why did you take me away from Bruce?" Dick asked, off-screen. I could hear the quaver in his voice.

"Because I'm family, that's why. And because you mean a lot of money to me. But I don't want any of that circus stuff in my house and none of that gypsy lingo either. How Mary could have shacked up with that trapeze _artiste _is beyond me. He musta looked awful good in tights is all I can say!"

Abruptly, the phone dropped and landed on the floor when Dick apparently rushed Loyd. "Don't you say anything about my parents! They were good people and my Dad was the best! And they didn't 'shack up', they were married and I've got the picture!" I could see bodies moving from the corner of the screen, then Loyd picked up the phone in one hand. I could see that he had Dick, his right hand clenched in the boy's hair. The image bounced as Loyd dragged Dick to his bedroom.

"Ow! Ow! OW! Let GO of me!" Dick shouted as Loyd tossed him onto the bed. Dick grabbed Zitka off his pillow and held her against his chest. Loyd gave a laugh that was closer to a snarl.

"And what is that? A stuffed toy?" An adult hand clutching a stuffed toy swam into view. "You're too old for that baby stuff! This goes into the trash right now." The image faced away from Dick and headed toward the door.

"Noooooo! You can't! My Mom made her for me! It's all I've got left..." The image turned back to a frantic boy with a smudged face. "Please...Please Cousin Richie...please let me keep her? I'll do anything you want, just let me keep her?"

The hand tossed the toy back onto the bed. "All right. You can keep it for now. But when I say 'frog', you'd better jump! You do what I say, when I say. Got that?"

Dick looked up, eyes wide, but I could see the hatred sparkling in their depths. "Yes sir," he said.

"Now, you're going to stay here and think about what you've done wrong," Loyd said. "I don't want any of that circus stuff anywhere I can see it and that includes acrobatics. Mary went and married that gypsy carnie and it's too late to change that, but you don't have to be raised like a carnie. And I don't want to hear any of that Gypsy lingo, what do they call it? Romanian?"

"Romani," Dick muttered. "It's not Romanian, it's Romani."

"Whatever it is, I won't hear it. English only in this house. " Loyd demanded. "And keep your pictures of your Dad put away. I never want to see him again. I see one, and I'll burn it! Got that? "

"Yessir," Dick said softly.

"For tonight, you stay in your room," Loyd said.

"But...we haven't had dinner yet," Dick said. "And Debbie didn't pack me a lunch today..."

"You've been living high on the hog for too long, kid," Loyd said. "Get used to leaner times like I've had to..."

The cell phone went back into Loyd's pocket. I heard him chuckling to himself as he closed the door to Dick's bedroom and went back into the living room.


	15. Richie's Reasons

CHAPTER 15

"Oh dear," a familiar voice said beside me.

I looked left and Alfred was at my elbow with a tray of coffee. I could feel the ice running through my veins. I was beyond rage at this point. "How dare he?" I breathed. "To try to take Dick's most precious possession away from him...and then starve him, to boot!"

I stood up and strode towards the batmobile.

"And just what are you planning, sir?" Alfred's dry voice reached me as I was about to open the car door.

"I'm going to drive to Metropolis to retrieve my son!" I shouted.

"And then you will lose both him and your...er...secret identity forever," Alfred said as put the tray down and came to stand next to the car. "When they find out who you really are, they will never let you adopt young Dick. The danger from your enemies alone would rule that out, not to mention your...unusual...life-style." Alfred's clear gaze bore into me, willing rationality back into my unwilling brain.

"Then I'll go as Bruce Wayne," I said. "I'll take the helicopter. It's faster."

"The same problem arises, sir," Alfred followed after me. "You will be portrayed as a stalker, unwilling to cooperate with the system. Wherever the lad is placed, it won't be with you."

"But I have it on tape!" I turned on Alfred. "I have to do something! I can't just leave him there without protection!"

"Thus far, sir, he has only lost a meal and a cell phone," Alfred replied patiently. "This is not yet enough to gain Mr. Loyd more than a reprimand and perhaps some parenting classes. You must wait, and watch for your time. You know this..."

I know this. I've known this longer than I've been Batman. How could one small boy make me lose my balance like this? "You're right, Alfred," I admitted finally. "It's just..." I caught myself clenching a fist and wishing that Loyd's face were handy.

"I understand. I love the lad as much as you do," he said. "Now, come upstairs and rest a bit."

I let Alfred take me upstairs to the study, where he plied me with tea and sage advice, but I wasn't listening.

Alfred also persuaded me to stay home from patrol that night. Maybe it was for the best; as angry as I was, I doubt that I would have pulled my punches as I normally do. I might have killed someone had I gone out.

* * *

I was up early the next morning, checking the recordings off the cell when Superman arrived. I'll give Clark this, he's a fast researcher.

As I felt the unaccustomed breeze hit my face, I didn't look up. Clark enjoys the awe people show when Superman lands beside them. I don't want to inflate his ego any more than it is already. "What did you find?" I asked, not taking my eyes away from the screen in front of me.

"Plenty," Superman said, striding forward. He slapped a USB drive onto the desk in front of me. I slid it into the computer and opened the first file.

"So, Dick was wrong," I murmured. "Mary Grayson was an heiress."

"She probably didn't know that she'd been left anything," Superman commented. "See..." he forwarded the file, showing a new document. "Mary Grayson's parents left her nothing. But her great-grandfather, who died a year ago..."

"Split the estate between Richie and Mary," I read the document on the screen. The Graysons' will left everything to Dick..." I glanced over at Clark, who stood tensely next to me.

"He's in danger," Superman said quietly. "Richie is the only Loyd still alive. If anything happens to your boy..."

I nodded. "Richie gets it all. And he didn't look very prosperous when I saw him last." I hit a few keys and pulled up Richie's bank accounts. Since I got the Crays, I've only just begun to hack into the major banking databases as well as the governmental sites. Fortunately, Richie banks at Wells Firgo, one of those I've been able to access so far.

The numbers didn't look promising. "He's almost broke," I said as I scrolled through the balances. "He's had numerous overdrafts . See, the initial deposits after his Great-Grandfather's will was probated..." I scrolled down to see the money evaporating fast. "He still has the mansion..."

"Yes, but see the checks he's written. The Loyd mansion wasn't well maintained," Clark stabbed a finger at the screen. "He's made extensive improvements to the property...Added a pool...sauna..."

"And now he needs more money," I said thoughtfully, looking at the damning numbers. "He had no interest in Dick at first, because he thought he had enough money. Then, by the time the adoption became public he'd bottomed out. And he probably discovered that he had no access to Dick's money unless he could show that he was the boy's guardian."

"And now he is, or will be shortly," Clark said. "And if Dick dies, Richie is the next of kin."

I shook my head. "We have some time. I suspect he wants to shake me down first. I've made it pretty clear that I want to raise Dick as my own..."

Clark grinned at me. "You mean, you love the boy. C'mon, Bruce, it's patently obvious that you're crazy about the kid."

"What do you mean?" I glowered back at him. Really, why must Clark always be so...emotional? And perceptive?

Clark gestured at the trapeze set up, the child-sized equipment, the mock-up of Robin's costume and the photo of Dick and me that sat next to my computer desk in the cave. "All this in four months? I may not be the 'world's greatest detective', but I didn't fall off the turnip truck yesterday." He took in my bleak expression. "So, what should we do now?"

"I think I want to keep a closer eye on Dick and especially on Richie Loyd. I'm going to Metropolis," I said.

* * *

DICK GRAYSON'S OBSERVATIONS

Dick told me later about his life with the Loyds. His account adds an interesting counterpoint to my observations.

As he had predicted, Dick was very bored with his school, but because the work was so easy he didn't mind going. But his very boredom caused problems of its own.

"Richard, can't you sit still?" Mrs. Purcell asked as the small boy fidgeted in his seat.

Dick looked down. He hadn't noticed that he'd been moving at all. Consciously, he tried to still his body without much success. Since Cousin Richie's declaration that there would be no circus antics in his house, Dick had stopped exercising and he was feeling it. He tried to get it out of his system by running to school and when school was over, running back again. But this didn't work very well. He remembered the days in the circus and, more vividly, working out with Bruce at the manor and sighed.

By the fourth day at the school, Dick had become accustomed to scoldings from his teacher for his inability to sit still. He'd given up trying not to fidget, although he still tried to be as active as possible on the playground. He had to smile, though. His antics at recess usually drew a crowd while he did an acrobatic routine on the grass every day, varying it as he tried different moves first his Dad and then Bruce had taught him.

He was still angry about the cell phone. He'd wanted to call Bruce more than once and having the phone had felt comforting, like having Bruce with him during the day and watching over him by night. But all that was done now and he was stuck with Richie, probably until he was 18.

Richie didn't seem to like him much and Dick wondered why he'd even bothered to get custody when the guy clearly didn't like kids. Like much of what grownups did, it baffled Dick and he had no choice but to accept it.

At the end of his first school week, Dick was called into the principal's office and found Cousin Richie waiting for him. The principal sat them both down and opened a file folder on the desk.

"What's all this about?" Cousin Richie grumbled. "I've got a job I'm losing time from over this brat!"

Dick just shrank back into his chair. He'd always been loved and cared for by his parents; he wasn't accustomed to being the object of resentment.

Principal Baker just cleared her throat and tried to speak pleasantly. "We've had some issues with Richard and suggest that you might seek medical attention for him. He is very active in class and seems unable to sit still. He was.." She looked at her folder. "turning handsprings in his classroom on Monday. He did a handstand and back flip during a math test on Tuesday...Thursday, the teacher had to coax him down from off the top of the book case...and every day he draws a crowd of children at recess by going through various tumbling routines.." She looked up at Cousin Richie. "We think that Richard's inability to focus may be related to Attention Deficit Disorder or hyperactivity. A course of Ritalin might help to settle him down."

Uncle Richie's eyes gleamed. "Do you think that will make him more manageable at home?"

"Oh, yes. Without a doubt." The principal closed her folder. "I take it that you'll follow up on this?"

"Oh yeah, I'll take care of it. I got a doctor friend that'll see us today," Richie grabbed Dick by the hand and pulled him towards the door. "He'll do better real soon, ma'am. "


	16. The L Word

CHAPTER 16

DICK'S ACCOUNT

Richie took Dick to a rundown looking building with a sign out front "James Shelman, M.D." on a weathered piece of wood. He led Dick into the office waiting area where a tired stack of magazines rested on a low table. "Sit down here and don't move!" he told the boy, then went into the back. There was no receptionist.

Dick looked around the office and didn't like what he saw. The curtains were dusty and faded and the magazines...he picked one up...were two years old. He didn't think he'd want to be treated by any doctor whose office was this dirty. He'd listened to the principal's suggestion with a kind of horror. Sure, he'd never gone to public school but he knew about ADHD and Ritalin. He and his parents used to joke about it, his Dad claiming that all Dick needed was a leash or maybe some drugs to slow him down. But Dick had always known that Dad liked his high energy; it was a good thing in a performer.

The week he'd spent in Richie's home had been the worst of his life, even worse than the weeks after his parents had died. At least with Bruce, somebody cared if he had nightmares and he knew that Bruce was always willing to listen. He knew that he didn't want to be drugged and turned into a zombie kid. That would close off his options. Dick put his head in his hands. But what options did he have now? He could run and try to find the circus, but by this time they were probably wintering in Florida and wouldn't be on the road until early summer. He could run to Bruce...but the welfare people might make trouble for him. Or he could just join the kids on the streets... He needed to know more, that was for sure.

Dick got up and tiptoed to the examination room door, listening intently.

"So what do you think?" Richie's voice said.

"Yeah, I can give you something that looks like Ritalin but will sedate him even more. But where are you gonna get money to pay for it?" an unfamiliar voice sounded through the door.

"The kid's the key to the money. Once I'm officially his guardian, I'm gonna touch that billionaire for some money. I'll pay you when I get the special pills, the ones that take care of him permanently." Richie's voice was urgent.

"You know my price," the doctor said. "All right, here's a week's worth of pills and here's the certificate you can give the school. Let's go see this bundle of energy," the doctor said, much closer to the door now. Dick ran back to his chair and did his best to look bored as the two men came into the waiting room.

"Uncle Richie," Dick said urgently. "I really don't need pills. I'll try really hard not to fidget; I know it bothers people." He eyed the doctor, a tall gray haired man in a dirty smock. "You don't have to worry about me."

The doctor moved over to him much more quickly than Dick was expecting and clamped a hand around his arm. "I think I should take a look at you first, young man," the doctor said, holding him fast. "You do look like you have too much energy...and curiosity." He pulled a hypodermic from a pocket and pulled the cap with his teeth. "Hold him, Richie," he instructed.

In a panic, Dick fought back, kicking at Richie, successfully getting him in the ankle. While Richie yelped and hopped on one foot, he tried to squirm out of the doctor's grip. The man's hand only tightened further and too late Dick remembered Bruce's advice about fighting a larger opponent. He reached for the man's other arm, only to see it coming at him with a hypodermic. It plunged deep into his shoulder and soon he was in a foggy haze and then into sleep. The last thing he heard was the doctor's voice.

"Told you this would make him more manageable..."

* * *

The next thing Dick knew, it was morning and he was being shaken out of bed by Cousin Richie. "C'mon, brat! You gotta go to school. Debbie!" Richie shouted down the hall. "Get the kid dressed and take him to school. I've got the certificate for the office there. But first..."Richie turned back to Dick and pulled him by the wrist into the bathroom. There, he poured a glass of tap water and opened a container of pills. "Swallow this."

Dick looked up fuzzily, trying to understand what was required of him. Impatiently, Richie shoved the glass in the boy's hand and popped a pill into his mouth. "Swallow it. Drink some water," he demanded. Too bleary to know what was going on, Dick obeyed.

Debbie propelled the boy through the morning routine, dressing him and pushing a bowl of cereal in front of him. Dick picked at it, dimly aware that there was something...different...about today. When he'd eaten half the bowlful, Debbie put his jacket on him and drove him to school. He stumbled into his seat in class and never once fidgeted. At recess he sat on a bench staring into space. The kids who had been his enthusiastic audience before just shrugged their shoulders, muttered about the 'zombie' kid and drifted away.

After school, Dick didn't want to run and jump anymore. It was as much as he could do to slog home, backpack on his shoulder weighing him down. He let himself into the house and didn't bother with a snack. He wasn't hungry since the pills started. Dimly, he wished that he could talk to Bruce. Something wasn't right with these drugs. He didn't think Bruce would like it somehow. Both Debbie and Richie were at work and he had the house to himself.

He peeked into the master bedroom and saw Bruce's phone on the dresser. He shuffled over to it and turned it on, then hit Bruce's speed dial.

* * *

Bruce's Account

I was driving hell-bent for leather for Metropolis when my cellphone rang with Dick's ringtone. I picked up immediately, more than half expecting Richie's face to appear on my in-dash screen.

To my surprise and elation, it was Dick. The elation faded, however, when I got a good look at my boy's face. His eyes were unfocused and he looked drugged.

"Dick?" I demanded anxiously. "Are you okay?"

"I dunno, Bruuus.." he slurred. "Richie has me on some pills t'make me less figed...figget...fidge...less rowdy. An' now I don' make th' teecher mad 'nymore. I'm gladto ssseee yu again, Bruuus; I misss yuu.." He said wistfully, clearly fighting the fog that held him.

At first, horrified, I couldn't answer him. "What were the pills, Dick? Do you know?" I asked casually. I didn't want to frighten him. I'd seen a brighter affect on patients tranquilized with Thorazine.

"Don' know, Bruuus. They're blue..." Dick blinked and struggled to focus. "I take 'em twice a day."

"Dick, do whatever you have to do, but _don't_ take any more of them. Okay, chum? I don't think they're good for you," I looked closely at Dick's face, hoping he could understand me.

" 'Kay, Bruuus. I'll do my best," Dick replied.

"Where is Richie?" I asked, hope building. Maybe I could get Dick out of there, meet him somewhere and get him away from that cousin of his.

"He 'n Debbie are at work," Dick said. "I miss yuuu, Bruuus. When can I go home?"

I was about to answer when a hand reached out and took the phone, then backhanded Dick across the face. I saw him fall, then the heard Richie's smug tones. "You're already home, sport! Now what did I say about you using the phone?" Abruptly the picture shifted to Richie's smug visage. "Mr. Wayne, how nice to speak to you again. I've been wanting to talk to you."

"I have a few things I'd like to say to you, too, Richie," I growled back. With difficulty, I reined in my fury. "What is it you want, Loyd? What'll it take to get you to let the boy go? Clearly you don't really want him."

Richie smirked at me. "Dickie's worth money to me, Wayne. I'll keep him until I get adequate compensation. For starters, how about a hundred thou' wired to my bank account. That'll help defray some of his expenses. I don't have health insurance, y'know, and I gotta pay for Dickie's meds."

Deep breath, Bruce. Count to three. "He does seem to be...slower. Why are you medicating him? With what?"

Richie's smile got broader. "He's really an irritating kid, isn't he? Always climbing things, running, jumping. Hard on the furniture. And talking! He never shuts up! After the school suggested Ritalin, a doctor friend of mine came up with something a bit more potent."

Potent and addictive, no doubt. "How much to relinquish your claims to him?" I waited tensely to see how he'd respond. I've brokered deals worth billions, mediated peace accords between warring planets with less tension.

Richie had me and he knew it. The great Bruce Wayne, brought low by a sleazy little weasel of a man. "Five million," he said gleefully. "Cash money and I'll sign whatever release you want. Here's the number of my bank account for the hundred thousand. I need it for...expenses."

I'll just bet you do, I muttered to myself. "It'll be there by morning," I said. "And I'll call you on this phone when the cash is ready. And Richie," I followed up. "Stop drugging the boy."

Richie savored his triumph. "No, Bruce...Can I call you Bruce? The drugs make him nice and quiet. As long as he's with me, he takes his pills. Think of it as your motivation to come up with the money faster." With that, he cut the line.

My response was to hit the gas pedal even harder. I had to get to Metropolis.


	17. Details

CHAPTER 17

I picked up the cell again and put through a call to Rae Green. "Rae," I asked her. "I think I may have persuaded Richie Loyd to drop his claims on Dick. Can you draft up a release to that effect and e-mail it to me?"

"How on earth did that happen?" Rae asked, then immediately said. "No. I don't want to know anything about it. Safer that way." She sighed. "All right, I'll draft it right up and send it to your e-mail. Anything else?"

"Get me custody of Dick again and push the adoption as fast as you can," I said, inching the gas pedal down a bit more.

"You're afraid that Richie will change his mind, aren't you?" Rae asked, unwilling. "How much are you paying him off?"

"You don't want to know, Rae," I said. "You really don't want to know. But in any case, I'm concerned about Dick's safety with Loyd. I have to get him away as fast as possible."

I could hear the tension in her voice. "Bruce, ethically I can't report our discussions because they're confidential unless you plan to commit a crime. Please don't tell me you plan any criminal activity."

I saw my face grinning wolfishly in the rearview mirror. "All right, Rae. I won't tell you anything of the kind. I'll touch base with you later."

The next call I made was to Lucius Fox. "Lucius, I want you to wire a hundred thousand dollars to this bank account," I said and rattled off the number. "And I need five million in cash sent to me at the Metropolis office."

"What? Wait a minute, Bruce!" Lucius stuttered. "What is this for? You're going to deplete your running cash with this..." Lucius paused, then continued, his voice tense. "Is there some problem you haven't told me about? You aren't fleeing the country are you?"

The thought had occurred to me, but it wasn't feasible. I wasn't prepared to give up my life in Gotham City, even if Richie changed his mind about Dick. "No, I'm not. I've reached a...settlement...with Richie Loyd about Dick. He's ready to relinquish custody and adoption rights, but I need to move fast. I don't think that Dick is very safe with the man. How fast can you get the money?"

Lucius sighed, as he so often does when I need large sums of money quickly for Batman's purposes. But, as he always does, he came through. "It'll take me a few days to gather it. You sure a wire transfer won't do?"

"I'm afraid not," I said. "I have the feeling that Richie either has some immediate expenses to cover or he's planning to split town without paying. Neither of which is a concern of mine at the moment. I'll let you know where I'm staying so that we can coordinate delivery."

"Yeah, I'll make sure that you have some armed guards to carry the money for you. That much cash will take up a couple of big cases. Maybe you need an armored van..." I could imagine Lucius creating an entourage for me; not what I wanted.

"Don't worry about the van or the guards. I have another candidate in mind, Lucius," I smiled to myself.

"You're sure about this, Bruce?" Lucius asked doubtfully.

"I'm sure," I replied. "I'll be in touch later." I cut the line and dialed another number. "Clark, I'm calling to update you on Dick's situation and I need your help."

"Tell me," Clark responded, and I gave him an account of my telephone call from Dick. He was even more shocked than I had been. Of course, Clark has seen much less of the seedier side of life than I have, even as Superman.

"My God," Clark said. "We have to get him out of there! What can I do?"

I could tell that Clark wanted to punch something, an emotion with which I am very familiar. "It will take a few days to gather the cash. Until then, I'll be surveilling the Loyd house and Dick's school. When the cash comes in, Bruce Wayne will need someone to act as a guard and carry the cash. Five million weighs more than I want to handle."

I could hear the smirk in Clark's voice. "I see. And you'll have to handle this as Wayne, not Batman or you'll endanger your identity. I'll be glad to go with you. I assume that any punching will be done by me?"

Damn him. I hate it when he's smug. "It looks like it. Bruce Wayne is mild-mannered as a rule," I replied. "I'll probably check into the Hilton tonight and use that as my base of operations."

"I've got a guest room, why don't you stay with me?" Clark asked hopefully. He's...disarmingly hospitable...even though his apartment is tiny in comparison to most hotel suites I usually occupy. Still, it would help to keep my visit under the radar and ironically, the press coverage to a minimum.

"Are you sure you have the space?" I asked.

"I have plenty of space, Bruce," Clark answered cheerfully, knowing he'd already won. "I'll cook dinner. When should I expect you?"

* * *

I arrived at 8:00 p.m. as Clark was pulling a meatloaf out of the oven. I don't know, but I'd always imagined that he ate at diners or t.v. dinners, when he bothered to eat at all. When I asked him about it, he was very forthcoming.

"Oh no, I like to eat," Clark said proudly as he sliced up the meatloaf and dished up mashed potatoes beside it. "And Ma taught me how to cook when I was in high school. She said that it was a skill every bachelor should have. And anyway, why eat bad food?" He slid the plate in front of me and, to my surprise, it was quite edible. I am not, however, going to tell Alfred that Clark's meatloaf was better than his...

"Coffee?" Clark asked, offering the pot. I held out my cup and the two of us sat down to eat dinner and plan.

I took a sip, grimaced and set the cup down. Clark just kept drinking. Super taste-buds, I assume, makes his coffee edible. "I'll be gathering as much evidence as I can on Loyd's treatment of Dick, just in case he reneges on our deal."

"As Bruce Wayne or Batman?" Clark asked.

I sighed. "I'm thinking more of Matches Malone. Bruce can't be seen stalking Loyd and Batman is out of place in Metropolis. I'll go and buy a used car tomorrow."

"You can use mine," Clark offered. "I don't drive much in the city. I mostly use it when I'm on assignment. I hope you don't mind a ten year old Buick."

"Don't tell me," I said. "It used to be your Ma's."

Clark grinned. You are good. Yep, Ma doesn't drive anymore so she gave it to me."

A ten year old Buick is about right for Matches. I agreed. Clark showed me to the guest room. It was a tiny office, about the size of my closet at the Manor, with a twin bed. I've slept on worse, so I stood to one side while Clark fussed and made sure that I had enough blankets. When I began to wonder if he'd offer a bedtime story as well, Clark said good night. "And Bruce?" he said before he closed the door.

"Yeah?" I answered.

"Don't worry. We'll get him away safely." He closed the door behind him. I still don't know why that eased my worry about Dick, just a bit.

* * *

The following morning, Clark made breakfast and coffee again. Valuing my continuing health, I opted for orange juice with my meal and read the Daily Planet with my eggs. "Damn," I said and handed the society page to Clark. The headline read, "Billionaire Bruce Wayne fighting to adopt Circus Boy! Can a Playboy Be a Decent Father?"

"That was fast," I grumbled. "I only telephoned Rae Green to rush the adoption last night."

"Probably someone at the Court let it slip," Clark said, then noted the byline. "Sorry, Bruce," he sighed. "I can't control Lois when she's on the trail of a hot story. I'll talk to her..."

"No," I sighed. "It'll only give me away." I slid away from the table. "It's about time I got out there in any case." I ended my sentence in the nasal New Jersey voice that Matches affects. "You got the keys ta th' Buick? I sure hope it don't look like an ole lady car. A guy's gotta guard his reputation, capice?"

Clark grinned and fished the key out of a drawer. "Let me know if you need any help, Bruce. My com link is always open."

"I'll be seein' ya," I replied and slipped out the door.

* * *

DICK'S ACCOUNT

The morning I left Clark's apartment as Matches Malone, Dick was awakened by Debbie and again pushed to eat breakfast and prepare for school. But this time was different.

"I'm stayin' home today," Loyd announced. "And so is Dick."

"Doesn't he have to go to school?" Debbie asked.

"It's okay," Loyd said. "I made a deal with Wayne to turn the kid over. Dick stays here in the house until I got the money in hand. I don't want Wayne kidnapping the brat from school and doing me out of my five million." Loyd sat down across from Dick and watched as the boy dully poked at his breakfast cereal.

"Oh, okay," Debbie said and stopped. "Did you say five million?" Her eyes gleamed. "We'll be rich!"

"You got that right, baby," Loyd said, grinning. "And then we're outta here!"

Dick, sitting at the table, felt a sharp stab of hope. The adrenalin began to clear the fog and he realized that in all the ruckus, Debbie had forgotten to give him his morning pill. He pretended to be sedated and watched as Debbie left for work. Loyd poured himself a cup of coffee and sat himself opposite a visibly drooping Dick.

"If I'm not in school t'day, c'n I watch tv?" Dick asked in a slurry voice.

"Yeah, sure," Loyd said, lighting up a cigarette. "But stay in the living room, Brat."

"Yeah," Dick said and slouched into the other room. He turned on cartoons, loud, and began to hope.

* * *

BRUCE'S ACCOUNT

I had parked the Buick across from Dick's school and waited for him to arrive. To my surprise and concern, other parents dropped off their children, but I saw nothing of my...son. Of course, he could be sick, but that was unlikely. Certain now that Dick wasn't here, I turned the car around and drove for the Loyd residence.

I had just arrived when I got a call from Lucius. He'd managed the impossible and the five million had been gathered. It was being held at the Metropolis office of WayneTech. I cast a look at the Loyd house and, reluctantly left. I also phoned Clark to meet me at WayneTech as Superman. At last, I would have my boy back. I didn't regret the five million. I'd have paid double that for Dick's safety.

I stopped on the way to remove Matches Malone's gear and become Bruce Wayne again. The Buick was parked next to my custom Lotus. As I entered the lobby at WayneTech, everyone surrounding me craned their necks to watch Superman land just outside. I must admit that I felt just a prick of jealousy that Superman had stolen all of Bruce Wayne's thunder. But I reminded myself that I had asked him to be a present in the first place. I hardly had cause to be upset.

Superman strode into the room, glancing around, eyes lighting on me. "Mr. Wayne? I understand from Batman that you need my assistance?"

I half smiled at the reference and slapped my vacant socialite look across my face. "Yes, I do as a matter of fact. Thank you Superman. I have an important business deal and someone beyond reproach to handle the cash involved and act as a bodyguard to me. Would you be willing to do that?"

"Certainly, Mr. Wayne," Superman answered jovially.

I turned back to the receptionist, who called down the corporate officer in charge of the transfer. The legal documents had also been prepared to Rae's specifications. From the car, I telephoned Richie to advise him that I had the money.

"All of it?" Richie demanded?

"All of it," I said sharply. "Now let me talk to Dick. I want to be sure he's okay." Five minutes later, Dick's voice came over the phone, sounding brighter than he'd been that last time.

"Bruce? Is it true that I can go home with you?" he sounded eager and so very very glad.

"It sure is, Chum," I replied. "I'll be there in about ten minutes, so get ready to leave."

"Okay!" I could hear Dick's grin in his voice. With a matching grin, I turned the car towards Loyd's house. Superman would meet me there with the money. Nothing could go wrong now.


	18. The Exchange

CHAPTER 18

DICK'S ACCOUNT

Dick handed the phone back to Loyd and couldn't help but hop and skip in his joy. After he turned multiple handsprings on the furniture, he landed to see the glower in Loyd's face.

"What...what's wrong, Cousin Richie?" Dick faltered. "You're getting rid of me soon. Aren't you happy?"

Loyd studied the boy closely for a few seconds. "Yeah, I'm getting rid of you all right. And I'm going to make a lot of money." He went to the refrigerator and opened the door. Assuming that Loyd was getting something to eat, Dick shrugged and went to his room to pack. He had just put Zitka into the top of his suitcase when he felt an arm grab him around the waist, lifting him off his feet.

"Hey! Lemme down!" the boy shouted. He was startled when he was tossed onto his back on the bed with Loyd straddling him.

Dick's eyes widened and he tried to throw the man off but didn't have the leverage. Richie, with a focused expression, lifted Dick's shirt and quickly emptied a hypodermic into his belly. "Wha...? OW! What are you doing?" the boy shrieked.

"Getting everything that's coming to me," Loyd said quietly, an unknown emotion moving in his eyes. "Your mother, Mary, spent her whole life making people love her. She kissed up to my grandfather so much that even though her own parents disinherited her, Gramps wouldn't go along with the family. He should have left it all to the last Loyd. Me. Instead he willed half of everything to Mary. Mary! The one who married a thieving gypsy and joined the circus, of all things. And now I have to do all the dirty work!"

Dick felt his eyes beginning to close. He felt incredibly sleepy but fought it, trying to crawl off the bed and away from Richie. He could feel his vision going blurry with big white spots and he was so terribly sleepy...

"She wasn't my family after she married so far below her!" Richie said, capping and tucking the hypo away in a pocket. He snorted and grabbed Dick, hauling him back onto the bed, leaving the boy curled up next to his suitcase. The last thing Dick heard was Loyd saying, "I'll get what's mine at last..."

* * *

BRUCE'S ACCOUNT

I arrived at Loyd's house and all was quiet. Loyd's car was parked in front of the house; so he was here for the exchange. I parked the Lotus and waited for Superman. He soon landed, carrying two large cases, one in each hand.

"I've got to say, I've never carried this much money in my life," Superman commented, glancing at the two large trunks. "Five million takes up a lot of space."

"Is Dick in there?" I asked impatiently. At the last minute I was suddenly terrified that Richie would try to hide Dick away as a means of extorting more money from me. I'd pay, of course, but I wanted Dick away from here.

"Yes," Superman said, gazing intently at the house. "It looks like he's sleeping. I see him lying on a bed."

"He's alive, isn't he?" I asked, feeling vaguely foolish, like a worry-wart parent.

"He's breathing, heart beat is regular...He's asleep," Superman said. "Let's make the exchange so you can stop worrying, Bruce."

I gave him a half-smile. "You're right, Superman. I'm worrying too much." I went to the front door and rang the bell. Loyd must have been waiting just behind the door, because it opened immediately.

"So, Wayne, you here for the boy?" Loyd asked, smiling.

"I am," I replied. "I have the money." I gestured and Superman stepped into view.

Loyd's eyes went wide and he moved away from the door a step or two. Superman just smiled at him and moved into the living room. "Should I put them here?" he asked politely. Noting Loyd's speechlessness, he shrugged and put both cases on the coffee table, clicking them open so that Loyd could see the money.

For the first time, Loyd's gaze moved away from the Man of Steel and focused on the bills. A look of awe crossed his face as he gently picked up bundle after bundle of money, riffling through it with his fingers. Watching Richie worshipping his payoff irritated me.

"Well? Is that enough?" I asked, pulling the documents out of the folder. "Sign here, then. I'll take Dick and be on my way...Where is he?" I asked, looking around.

Glancing at Superman and looking suddenly nervous, Loyd grabbed the paper and scrawled his signature over it without bothering to read the text. I checked to make sure that all the necessary lines were filled, signed the spaces for my signature and tucked my copies into the folder again. I handed Loyd his copy, suddenly feeling the weight of worry dropping away. Dick was mine now.

"So, where is my boy?" I asked again.

Loyd pointed down the hallway. "He's taking a nap in his room. We've been giving him sedatives for hyperactivity and he just had his morning dose." Loyd smiled ingratiatingly at Superman. "You can go get him if you want."

Superman looked at me and I nodded. He disappeared into the back and returned with Dick tucked against his chest, fast asleep. He handed me the suitcase and carried Dick out to my car where we both settled him in the passenger's seat. I put the suitcase into the trunk and didn't bother to give Loyd any farewells in my hurry to get Dick away from there. I stopped the car a few blocks away, out of Loyd's site and shook Dick gently. I had thought he'd like to meet Superman. The boy didn't wake up but I noticed a fine sheen of sweat covering his face and body. His face, normally pale, was ashen.

Frowning, I unbuckled his seatbelt and checked his pulse. It was racing. "Dick? Dick! Wake up!" I said firmly, shaking him. He wouldn't wake. Something was wrong. Was it the sedation? Should I let him sleep it off? I looked back over my shoulder in the direction of Richie's house. Don't panic, Bruce. Don't overreact... I flicked a finger against Dick's cheek and shouted at him, "Dick! Wake up!" No response at all. He'd just failed a first line method to assess for consciousness.

Superman landed next to the car and strode over as I was pulling up Dick's t-shirt and trying to revive him with a sternal rub. "What's wrong, Bruce?" Superman demanded as Dick remained still.

"He won't wake up, Clark," I replied with panic flooding me. No. That wouldn't do. I took a deep breath and let the Bat take over. "Loyd gave him something; I don't know what. It might just be a sedative...or it could be something worse. His pulse is fast and he's pale and sweating." I looked up at Superman, feeling terribly helpless. "Can you get him to the hospital? I'll find out what he's been given."

"As Batman?" Superman asked as he lifted my boy from the passenger seat.

"No time," I grated. "Where are you taking him?"

"Metropolis General," Clark, already aloft shouted back to me.

I had already started the car and swung it around in a sharp U-turn. Richard Loyd was going to tell me everything if I had to break every bone in his body.

I probably should have changed into my Bat costume but that would take too much time. I had to find out what Richie had done. I was going to beat it out of him as Bruce Wayne and damn the consequences.

I pulled the car to a squealing stop in front of Loyd's house and hauled the front door open. I found Loyd on his knees, transferring the contents of the two cases into a single large packing crate. He jerked back when he saw me.

"What do you want, Wayne?" he asked nervously as I approached him. "Our business is done. You've got the kid."

I advanced on him, my hands balled into fists. "What did you do to him, Richie? What did you give him?"

Richie's face flushed. "Me? His hyperactive meds. I think it's valium, that's all. The bottle's on the table." He pointed toward the kitchen table. I picked up a prescription bottle and read the dosage. It would send a child into a semi-stupor but not into unconsciousness.

"How much did you give him today? He's unconscious and he won't wake up," I growled, pocketing the bottle for future analysis.

"N...Nothing..." Loyd said as I moved in on him. I grabbed him by the collar with one hand and punched him with the other.

"What was it?" I demanded, watching the blood drip from his nose. "I know who's next in line to inherit from your grandfather's will. You want Mary's share, don't you? Dick inherits unless he dies; then you get everything! What did you give him?"

"Din't give him nothin'" Loyd insisted. "Doctor gave me the meds...School said kid was too active...I should drug him..."

Honesty was not what I was reading in Loyd's face. I've seen more veracity in the eyes of the two-bit hoods in Three Corners of Gotham. He was lying...There was much more to this. I had a sudden suspicion. "Does the name Anthony Zucco mean anything to you?"

There! There it was. His eye flickered. He knew Zucco. "You paid him to cut those ropes, didn't you?"

Loyd's eyes turned away and I saw him gulp. So, that was it then. He'd been behind the murder of Dick's parents. He'd hired a second-rate gangster to kill his cousin for the money she'd been left. A half share just wasn't enough for Richie. "So, you planned to get all the money...Mary's money, but Zucco made a mistake, didn't he? He didn't kill the whole family. He missed Dick." I held him at nose-length and glared at him. "But you were content to wait until Dick or his guardian claimed the money. And then you got word that I was adopting him. You planned to double-dip. Extort money from me, then make sure that the last heir ahead of the whole pie was taken care of." I felt the rage building to an explosive point. I extended and arm and held Loyd overhead by the throat and began to close my fingertips. "What. Did. You. Give. The. Boy?" I demanded.


	19. Reunion

I thought I'd get this out as quickly as possible given the various feedback I got which included some interesting language...

Next chapter will come towards the end of the week.

CHAPTER 19

I shifted Loyd so that I held him with one hand and tightened the other. I could feel my grip constricting Loyd's throat, millimeter by millimeter. When his breath began whistling, I knew that I was near to killing him and I didn't care, except that I needed to know what he'd poisoned Dick with. "This is your last chance to tell me," I grated, seething that someone, _anyone_ would dare to hurt my child...a boy I loved. Choking wasn't working, so I dropped him to the ground and went to work with my fists, shouting questions the entire time.

Finally, I heard a gurgle from Loyd and eased up a bit. "What? Tell me!" I commanded. He began talking through broken teeth and, I suspect, a cracked rib, but he talked.

"In...su...lin and...and...valium..." he gasped. "Insulin...untraceable af...ter death...You were... s'pposed... to let him sleep off the sedative...and die...He'd die in _your_ cus..tody...not...mine..." He gasped for air and muttered to himself, " An' t'think I was scared of _Superman_..."

My eyes widened. I'd read about insulin-related murders and suicides. Unless Dick was a known diabetic, they might not test for hypoglycemia in the ER. "How much did you give him?" I got him by the throat again, but he was passing out himself. Probably from terror; he'd already wet himself. I shook him, hard. "How much? Where is the syringe? Where?" I roared. His hand plucked at his pants pocket. I reached in and fished out an empty syringe.

I stuffed it into my own jacket pocket, dropped Richie and ran out the door. The Lotus started immediately and I tore out of the neighborhood at the car's top speed. I activated the com link. "Superman! It's Batman. I have the syringe."

"Batman," I heard from the com link. "Superman here. What have you got?" his voice was urgent. "I'm at the hospital emergency room. Dick's in a coma and they don't know why... What did you find out?"

"Insulin!" I shouted. "He's been given a mix of valium and insulin. It's hypoglycemia."

"Gotcha," Superman shouted without bothering to shut down the link. I could hear him explaining to the doctors. Then he came back online. "I'm coming for the syringe. Where are you?"

"Freeway, highway 42 inbound to Metropolis..."

I heard a whooshing sound and felt a thump. Clark had landed on the passengers' side of my convertible. "Give me the hypo and I'll get it analyzed." He eyed me, taking in the rumpled hair and wild-eyed look on my face. "Are you all right, Bruce?"

I stared back at him. "What do you think? I'll meet you at the hospital. Go! Go!"

He took off with a swoop and I floored the gas. While Superman was aloft, I telephoned the Metropolis P.D. to go pick up Richie. After that, I must have left behind a trail of screaming drivers and honking cars, but I really don't remember much of the drive. I squealed into the hospital parking lot, put the car in a red zone and ran into the ER waiting area.

"Richard Grayson," I begged the clerk, panting. "Where is he?"

I must have looked pretty bad, because she came from around the desk and led me into a back room, flagging down a nurse. Despite my protestations, they forced me into a chair and started to work on my battered and bloody hands. Once they figured out that most of the blood wasn't mine, they let me go into the waiting room where Superman already sat.

He shot me a look of compassion as I sat next to him. "I see the nurses got to you. Feeling any better?"

I just looked at that blasted Kansas hayseed and stared at the door to the treatment room. Superman sighed and said, "No, I didn't think so."

"What's his status?" I muttered in a low voice. I was remembering the most recent case of insulin poisoning, Sunny von Bulow, who was allegedly given insulin by her husband. She went into an extended coma and never woke up.

Superman frowned. "They were using words like cerebral edema and neurological deficits. They said that they were giving him dextrose for the low blood sugar and corticosteroids for the brain swelling. It's lucky you spotted the problem fast. If you hadn't..."

I was hunched over in the chair. "He'd be dead already...He might still be a vegetable for life..." I visualized the bright, active boy who had lit up my house and life, then hunched over further. I had better call Alfred, I realized. He loves the boy as much as I do. I dialed Wayne Manor on my cell phone and soon connected to Alfred.

"Oh no, sir," he said. "I...I don't know what to say...I will be there shortly." With that, he hung up and I knew that he would be there in minutes. Alfred is an able pilot as well as driver. I had no doubt that the Wayne jet would be taking off shortly.

As I sat there, I knew that I should suit up and make sure that Loyd didn't skip town with the money but somehow, I just couldn't make myself care enough. Let him have the goddamned money. I could tell him from the bottom of my heart that money doesn't buy happiness or friendship or the love of a bright-eyed little boy.

"It'll be all right, Bruce," Superman said and put a hand on my shoulder. "Circus kids are tough. He'll be okay." He stood up. "I'll get you some coffee and something to eat."

"I'm not hungry," I muttered but Clark ignored me and left. He came back with a large cup of coffee and a muffin, trailing a small group of student nurses. Apparently Superman is very popular in Metropolis. He was too polite to chase them away, but they took one look at me, saw me glower and left the room quickly. I saw Superman glance at them, then at my face and hide a smile. Yes, I am the dark member of this partnership and I cherish my privacy. I wasn't in the mood to be Bruce Wayne, socialite. Instead, I was Bruce Wayne, worried father.

Alfred arrived and made me eat the muffin. I still don't know how he does it, but he had me drinking the coffee and eating before I realized it. Superman just sat there and looked smug. "Don't you have people to rescue?" I commented in his direction.

"Nope," Superman said blithely. "I'm going to stay here and support a friend until he doesn't need me anymore." He folded his arms and leaned back in his chair. I'll grant you, Clark irritates me most times but I am...grateful...to have him for a friend.

Finally the doctor came out of the treatment room. He started when he saw Superman in his waiting room, but straightened up and asked, "Family of Richard Grayson?"

"Yes, that's us...Me...I'm Bruce Wayne, Dick's...father," I heard myself say while analyzing the doctor's inscrutable face. Good news? Or bad? "How is he?"

The doctor smiled. "He's awake now but pretty tired. We'll keep checking his blood sugars for the next few days to make sure he remains stable. I understand that he's not a diabetic?" The doctor's eyebrows rose.

Oh yes, that. Murder attempt. "He isn't diabetic, but the dose was given to him by...his temporary guardian, a cousin," I growled. "Will there be any long term effects?"

"Neurologically? Probably not. He was treated promptly and the edema or brain swelling is already beginning to diminish. He'll be here for a bit until we're satisfied that his blood chemistry is back to normal and the swelling has subsided." The doctor moved to one side. "Would you like to see him?"

Would I? I jumped to my feet and followed the doctor into Dick's room. Dick is a small boy normally, but he looked even tinier in that bed. They had a heart monitor on him, multiple IV's and a nasal cannula as well. Seeing that, I shot a look at the doctor. He shrugged and said, "The quantity of valium he was given has depressed his breathing. This will keep him comfortable and his oxygen levels up."

Oh, my poor little boy. What did that bastard do to you? I pulled up a chair as close to the bed as I could get, wanting to hug him but afraid to dislodge all the wiring. Dick took the decision out of my hands. His eyes widened and he lunged for me with both arms open. I held him close, IV's, cannula and all. I could feel him breathing against my chest and fought the tears that would destroy my rep for stoicism forever.

"When can I go home?" Dick whispered.

I kissed the top of his head and didn't let him go. "As soon as the doctors say you can," I replied. "Your cousin Richie has signed away his rights to you, so I can adopt you now."

"Good," Dick said. "I don't want to belong to anybody but you, Bruce."

I heard a quiet footstep and a throat being cleared. I popped an eye open to see Superman standing at my elbow. Oh yeah. Him. Both eyes open now, I gently disengaged myself from my boy. "Dick, would you like to meet someone who helped rescue you? I'd like you to meet Superman. He got you to the hospital in time."

Dick turned huge blue eyes onto the Man of Steel and they got even bigger in his face. "Wow..." he said, just taking in the appearance of Big Blue at the side of his hospital bed. "You got me to the hospital? Did we fly?" Dick asked in a fascinated voice.

"Yes, we did," Superman answered. "I got you from Bruce's car and flew you here."

"Wow..." Dick said again. "I'm sorry I wasn't awake for it. Can...can we go flying again sometime? When I'm awake?" he asked hopefully. I could see the fires of hero-worship lighting in his face. Great. Batman's new side-kick is a Superman fan.

"I'd be happy to, pal," Superman said with a big grin. (Of the shit-eating variety, I'd say). "You just name the date and time. I'll be there."

"Didja hear that, Bruce? He's gonna take me flying! Is that okay with you, Bruce?" Dick's voice piped up a couple of octaves, so great was his enthusiasm. I caught Clark's smug glance. Clearly these two were simpatico. I felt an immediate stab of jealousy but...what could I do? Dick wanted this so badly.

"Sure, chum. Just as soon as you're out of the hospital bed," I replied. "I trust Superman to take good care of you." I shot a glare at Clark that said: 'Anything happens to my kid on your watch and your ass is grass, Kryptonian!'

Superman looked a little rattled, but nodded his understanding. It felt good for life to be getting a little closer to normal. I resolved to push this adoption as fast as I could, lest any other impediments raise their ugly heads. Next up, the adoption court.


	20. Hope

CHAPTER 20

Seeing that Dick was stable, Superman slipped away after a while, leaving me to watch over my boy. An hour or so later, a police detective came into the room and cleared his throat. "Excuse me, but are you Bruce Wayne?" he asked.

I shushed him and pulled him outside the room, sliding the glass door closed. "Keep it quiet. Dick just got to sleep. Yes, I am."

He was young for a detective. "Hello, I'm Carl Petersen. I'm investigating the situation with Richard Loyd. I understand that he attempted to extort some money from you?"

Dick stirred and my eye flicked over to him. Still sleeping, but restlessly. I hoped he wasn't having any nightmares. "Yes." I drew my attention back to the detective. "He all but threatened Dick's health unless I wired him a hundred thousand dollars. Then he agreed to release his claims to Dick if I paid him five million dollars cash. Superman was kind enough to act as my bodyguard when I delivered the money." I frowned, remembering. "Dick was passed out when I got there; Loyd said he'd been sedated because the boy was hyperactive."

"But that was a lie?" the detective asked.

"Dick is a very active boy, a natural athlete," I explained. "He's been a circus acrobat since he could walk. But he's not hyperactive at all. Loyd wasn't allowing any of 'that circus stuff' as he called it, so Dick was pining for his usual exercise level." I folded my arms and found myself standing protectively in front of the door to Dick's room.

"I see," Detective Petersen said cautiously, catching my defensive stance. "And do you have any proof of Loyd's extortion attempts?"

"I have a recording of him telling me that Dick is worth money to him. And haven't you questioned Loyd about it?"

Det. Petersen looked briefly embarrassed. "I'm afraid that neither he, nor the money were at the house when the police arrived. He seems to have dropped off the map. We did find a lot of blood on the scene." He eyed my ragged, bloodstained clothing and newly bandaged knuckles pointedly.

Escaped. Damn them! What do I have to do? Hogtie and label the crooks like Batman does in Gotham? I'd thought that Metropolis, Superman's utopia, could do better. Det. Petersen, watching me flex my fists and the rage building in my face and stance, took a couple steps back, hand drifting to his holster.

Seeing his body language, I pulled myself up short and remembered who I was. Not the Batman but playboy Bruce Wayne. Remember it. I let out a long sigh and consciously relaxed by my body. "I'm sorry, detective, it's just frustration." I rubbed my gritty eyes. "After I handed over the money, Loyd let me take the boy. We got a couple of blocks away when I tried to wake Dick up and he was completely unresponsive. A sternal rub failed," I met his eyes and let him see the worry, which had never quite gone away. "I called Superman and asked him to take Dick to the hospital, then returned to Loyd's house to find out exactly what Dick had been given. After some...persuasion..." I held out my hands. "Loyd admitted that he'd injected Dick with a cocktail of valium and insulin, expecting that I'd let the boy sleep of the 'sedation' and he'd die of unknown causes while in my custody. Dick is co-heir to the Loyd millions. If he dies, Loyd gets it all." I slumped, hands tucked into my jacket pockets. "Loyd gave me the syringe and I passed it on to Superman along with the info Loyd gave me. It saved Dick's life." I glanced over my shoulder at my son. He was still restless, moving as much as the tubes and wires would let him. I wanted to be near him, trying to soothe the nightmares. I turned back to the detective. "Will there be anything more?"

Det. Petersen gave me his business card. "Please call me when Dick is awake, would you? I need to get his statement, as well as Superman's. Also, would you give me any recordings you have from Loyd?" He gave me a sympathetic look. "I've got kids of my own, so I understand your frustration. Trust me, we'll be working hard to get this guy and bring him back. But he can get pretty far with five million..."

"Five million, one hundred thousand," I corrected him. "Mind you, I wouldn't have cared if he'd kept it all, but he hurt my boy...And for that, I want him to pay." I glanced back at Dick again. The detective smiled.

"I'll leave you alone, then. We're working hard on this, Mr. Wayne, trust me for that," he said and made his way back to the elevator. I opened the sliding glass door and went back inside to sit at my boy's bedside.

Dick continued to sleep poorly, not helped by the hourly finger-stick to test his blood sugars. Even when he didn't wake up for it, he flinched and I could tell he was having nightmares. I couldn't very well climb into bed with him given the small size of the bed, the side rails and the various tubes and wires. But I did have a thought.

I retreated downstairs to find the car in its red zone, ticketed, but not towed yet. I could deal with that. I reparked and opened the trunk, looking for Dick's suitcase. Inside, I found what I sought right at the top of Dick's belongings. I grabbed it and ran back upstairs to Dick's room in the pediatric intensive care unit. I tiptoed softly to Dick's bed, where he was still sleeping uneasily. I carefully tucked Zitka under Dick's arm. Even in his sleep, he smiled and wrapped his arms around his oldest friend, finally content.

* * *

I stayed with him into the night, dozing off myself in the chair. Alfred's arrival woke me. "I'll take over for the night, sir. I took the liberty of acquiring a suite at the Metropolis Hilton; you'll find a change of clothing there."

"No, I'm okay, Alfred," I tried to argue, but he interrupted me.

"You should shower, sir, and change your clothing," he sniffed. "At present, your appearance and your odor is liable to frighten the children. Now, here is the key. You may come and relieve me at nine in the morning." He pushed the keycard to the presidential suite into my hand, took a seat and promptly ignored me.

I had no choice but to obey Alfred's command. Over time, I've stopped questioning how he does it, but I it's probably his certainty that he will be obeyed that gives him his power over all his charges.

In the presidential suite, I found a complete wardrobe for both Dick and me, enough for several weeks. The shower felt great and the bed was even better. After a deep sleep, I was at the hospital by seven and found Alfred sitting quietly next to a quietly sleeping boy.

"How's he doing?" I asked Alfred quietly. He smiled at me and gestured at the toy elephant.

"Sleeping very well, sir. I think that Zitka is helping him along. I remember how fond you were of your stuffed bear at that age..." He stopped when he saw my blush. That bear is packed away in a trunk upstairs in the attic. He's threadbare, but I could never stand the thought of throwing him out.

"Anything new from the doctors?" I asked.

"Just that the lad will be here for the rest of the week until they're certain that his blood chemistry has returned to normal," Alfred got up from the chair. "Can I bring you breakfast, sir?"

I smiled and shook my head. "Thanks, Alfred, but I ate at the hotel. Go ahead and get some sleep. I'll stay here."

"Very well, sir." He glanced at the computer case that sat next to me. "Research or business?"

"Richie Loyd is in the wind," I tapped the case. "I intend to find him."

Alfred's pleasant face hardened. "Ah, I see, sir. Well, if there is any way I can be of service, please feel free to call upon me."

"Thanks, Alfred," I shot him a grateful look. "I'll do that."

* * *

Alfred left and an hour later, Dick finally awoke. He looked around fearfully until he saw me sitting at his bedside. "Bruce?" He looked around even more, a frightened expression on his face.

"Richie isn't here, Dick. You're in the hospital, remember?" I said.

His face cleared. "Oh yeah, I remember..." He said. "Was Superman here or did I just dream it?"

Superman again. "Yes, he was," I said gently, reaching out a hand and taking his small one. "How are you feeling?"

"Really tired," Dick said, cuddling Zitka close to his cheek. "Did you get her for me? I don't think she was here before..."

"You weren't sleeping well," I replied. "Can you tell me what happened with Richie?"

Dick frowned and held Zitka more tightly. "He...he grabbed me and held me down, then stuck me with a needle right here.." Dick pointed to his stomach with the hand that wasn't clutching the stuffed toy. "He said that my Mom had made everybody love her and her grandpa left her half of everything instead of Richie. He said that he was gonna get what was his..." His blue eyes teared up. "And...and that's all I remember till I woke up here before." He swallowed hard. "Are you sure that Richie's far away?"

I nodded. "So far away that the police can't find him." I could sense what he truly feared. "And don't worry, Dick. You don't have to go back to Richie. Not ever. He won't ever come near you again." Again I could feel my hands flexing in anticipation, my new gut-reaction to Richie Loyd.

Dick relaxed back into the bed. "Good," he said. "Does that mean I can come back to you when I get out of here?"

"I'm going to do my very best on that, chum," I said with a smile. A nurse approached with a tray for Dick. "Hey, look, they've brought breakfast for you!"

"Good, 'cause I'm hungry," Dick said in anticipation. "D'you think there are Croakies in there?" I lifted the cover off the bowl and there was a simple serving of oatmeal without even the grace of cinnamon (Alfred's usual touch).

"Well, eat it anyway and I'll have Alfred start bringing you some snacks," I said, smiling at him. He'd clearly lost weight while staying with Richie; odd, given Dick's lack of exercise. "Didn't you like the food at Richie's?"

Dick shook his head, delicately stirring at the oatmeal. "No. Most of it came out of boxes. Debbie didn't know how to cook. We didn't have much of a kitchen in the circus, but Mom could cook really well." His eyes started tearing again but he forced them back and continued in a cheerful tone. "And Alfred cooks really well. It was just easier not to eat at Richie's house."

"Oh, I see," I replied, and I did see. I suspect that Richie bullied Dick at the dinner table, or rushed him. And of course, anyone who's eaten Alfred's exquisite cuisine is ruined for lesser cooks. As I watched, Dick ate slowly but cleaned his plate, so I was satisfied.

"So, didja miss me?" Dick asked after the nurse had taken the tray away. I could tell that he was only half joking. "You...uh...didn't find another..._Robin_...while I was away, did you?" This time he really did look serious, lowering his voice to a whisper when he spoke Robin's name.

"No, Dick," I replied just as seriously. "If you can't be Robin, then I just won't have one. You're it." Of course, there would come a time when Dick would outgrow the role; hopefully many years in the future when he was a grown man. But for now, Dick Grayson was the only person who could be Robin. "When you're back at the manor and the doctors clear you, we'll start the training again. Okay with you?"

The sun emerging from cloud cover was less bright than Dick's smile. "Yeah!" He said and gave a fist pump. Naturally, this dislodged some telemetry and the nurse came in to reattach it, but Dick and I were grinning at each other like co-conspirators.

Later in the day came the best news of all. Rae Green called to tell me that Gotham Department of Social Services had granted me temporary custody of Dick, pending completion of the home study. When Dick was released from the hospital, we could both go home to the manor.


	21. The Home Study

CHAPTER 21

By the end of the week, Dick was released from the hospital. Superman stopped by to take us all to lunch and Dick enjoyed himself thoroughly, although we did attract a mob at the burger joint we went to.

"Is this the best you can do?" I grumbled to Superman as I nibbled at the grease burger I'd been served.

"I think the food is great here!" Superman said. "What do you think, Dick?"

Dick, who'd just deployed half the bottle of ketchup over his french fries looked up with a grin. "No, it's great! Way better than the hospital food." Alfred had gone ahead to ready the manor for our arrival, so I had no support in favor of more high end food. But I had to admit that my boy's cheeks were pinking up again and he'd gained a bit of weight.

Walking back to the car, Superman pulled me to one side while Dick ran ahead. "What about Richie Loyd? Have you got any leads on him? Have you told Dick about his parents yet?"

I turned a stormy face to the Man of Steel. "No! And don't you go telling him either! As far as Dick knows, Tony Zucco was running a protection racket and that's it. I don't want him to know about Richie Loyd."

"You don't plan to tell him?" Superman looked nonplussed. "Why not?"

"Dick doesn't need the extra burden of knowing that Zucco was hired by a family member. I'll take care of Loyd, in my own time. But until then, Dick will be free to live his life," I whispered fiercely to Superman and had the pleasure of seeing him flinch.

"All right, Bruce, if that's what you want," Superman sighed. "But he'll find out one day and you'll have to deal with it."

"I'll cross that bridge when I come to it," I said as Dick came running back to us.

"You're so slow!" He yelled and ran back to the car, diving into his seat by the simple expedient of hopping over the passenger side door into the convertible.

"I'll be in touch with you when I have something," I said in a low voice. "Can I count on you for this?"

Superman, who had been smiling fondly at the bundle of energy seated in the car, turned back to me. "Yes, you can count on me. I'll be checking with my own contacts. If I get a lead on Richie Loyd, I'll let you know."

* * *

WAYNE MANOR

When we arrived, Dick raced up the stairs to find his room untouched in his absence. I followed with his suitcase and Zitka tucked under an arm and dropped her onto the bed.

"Well?" I asked as Dick made a quick survey of the place. "Nothing's changed, has it?"

Dick shook his head. "No, you kept it just the way I left it," he said with his eyes shining. "When I...had to go away...I thought it might be the last time I ever saw you and Alfred."

"Did people drop out of your life so easily, Dick?" I asked him and sat next to him on the bed.

He looked at the floor and nodded. "In the circus, people come and go. Mom and Dad...and Mr. Haley...were the only people who stayed all the time. Sometimes they stay for a season, or for a few years, but they always leave. Then Mom and Dad...died...They wouldn't let Mr. Haley keep me." Blue eyes met mine. "Then you took me in and I thought...I thought you were adopting me, till Cousin Richie showed up, but he didn't really want me, did he?" He picked at the bedspread. "Are you really, truly sure that I don't have to go back to him? And I can stay with you?"

This poor child, bounced around so much by an uncaring system. So much loss for one so very young. I rested a hand on his shoulder. "Dick," I said as confidently as I was able. "I promise you that Richie is out of your life. I also promise you that you're staying with me, even if I have to kidnap you to keep you." I couldn't believe what I had just promised him, but realized that I meant every word.

His eyes widened. "You mean that? You really mean that." His eyes narrowed. "But what about your life here? Batman? If you break the law, they'll come after you!"

I shrugged. "The police have been after me before, as Batman. We'll manage, chum. Now, why don't you unpack? Alfred will be calling us for dinner soon."

* * *

The morning after Dick's arrival at the Manor, Miss Simms came to the house. I was working in the study when Alfred showed her in.

"Miss Simms," I said, shaking her hand. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"You did ask for an expedited home study, Mr. Wayne," she replied. "I'm here to get moving on it. Do you have time for an interview?"

Since this is exactly what I had asked Rae to set up, I sat back down. "Of course." The door opened and Alfred appeared with tea. Good idea. Tea smoothes the way. Alfred poured for us both and left the service with some of his fresh scones.

"What can I tell you, Miss Simms?" I asked, munching on a raisin scone and trying to look open and honest. Truthfully, necessary as the process was, I was dreading it. I guard my privacy very carefully for obvious reasons. Now this woman was required to dig into every element of my background and what was worse, I had to let her.

"First, Mr. Wayne," she said briskly. "Since I was the social worker on duty that night, I already know how you and Richard..."

"Dick," I interrupted. "He likes to be called Dick."

Her eyes narrowed but she went on. "Uh...yes. Dick...What I'd like to know is, why do you want to adopt this boy? Since you watched his parents die, could it be a sense of pity? Or obligation?"

I know that I shifted uncomfortably. Strong emotions, vulnerability...I don't know how to handle those emotions with strangers...or even with those I love sometimes. But I remembered that I was doing this for Dick. I focused on her question and tried to put my feelings into words.

"My own parents were murdered in front of me when I was a child," I replied. "I know what Dick is going through and I thought that maybe I could help him. And while he was living with me I...I...just grew fond of the boy..." The words barely described the incredible joy this child had brought to my life, as well as the light and love he'd added to my world. I had things to plan, things to do, things to teach this boy...A purpose that wasn't dark and infused with vengeance.

"Most people who are lonely buy a pet," she said tonelessly. "Animal shelters are full of dogs and cats that outgrew their cuteness. How do you know that you won't treat Dick like some exotic pet to be farmed out to a boarding school once you've lost interest?"

I could feel the heat rising under my collar. "Dick isn't a pet, nor is he a charity case," I all but shouted. "He's a boy. And I love him like a son." I could feel my hands curling into fists but I resolutely pushed the Batman back into the shadows. I could not afford to threaten this woman.

She was silent for a moment, then sighed. "Mr. Wayne, you must understand that your history doesn't suggest parenthood." She opened her notebook and removed newspaper clippings. "According to the Gotham Gazette, over the past year you have dated three different super models, two actresses, a reporter and two flight attendants." She looked up at me with pursed lips. "I must assume that you've invited several of these women home during the four months that Dick was living with you. Promiscuity of this kind is not an acceptable environment for a child."

I felt like I'd been sucker-punched. The women were all a smokescreen to keep Bruce Wayne, socialite, separated from Batman. Now it was all backfiring and threatening to deprive me of what my heart wanted most. "I...ah...never brought them home until after Dick has gone to bed. And when I'm out for the evening, Alfred babysits Dick."

"And who is Alfred?" she asked.

"My butler," I replied. Surely nobody could have a doubt about Alfred's competence at anything!

"The elderly man who brought the tea?" she asked doubtfully.

"Yes, that's Alfred," I replied.

"And you have no other servants? You don't plan to hire a nanny for Dick?" She began scribbling in her notebook.

This was not going well at all. "Uh...no...I hadn't planned on it. Dick is pretty self-sufficient..."

"Uh huh," was all she said as she underlined something in her file.

We spoke a bit more before she left, but it was abundantly clear to me that this interview had been a total disaster. If I didn't improve my reputation somehow, I might lose Dick.


	22. Robin

CHAPTER 22

During patrol that night, I was preoccupied with the problem at hand. Bruce Wayne needed to be a distinct personality from that of the Batman and the 'idiot playboy' role had accomplished that so far, alas-too well. Bruce Wayne was also known for his charitable works. Perhaps a little less dating and more philanthropy? I could only hope. The only other option was something that was in my grasp-a team of good lawyers.

The next morning, I called Rae Green and described the interview I'd had with Miss Simms.

Rae sighed. "Bruce, this adoption was always going to be difficult, given the fact that you have a reputation as a jet-setting, womanizing playboy who can't be bothered to run the company his father left him," she said briskly. "Add to that, you are unmarried and so can't provide the boy with a mother-figure. And don't get me started on all the women you've been connected with..."

I started to protest, but she stopped me. "Bruce, I know perfectly well that you're a deeper guy than the tabloids portray you. But the fact remains that these are the impressions left on the general citizenry of Gotham, including the social worker assigned to your case."

Grasping at straws, I asked, "Isn't there any way to get a different, less biased one? Miss Simms has clearly already made up her mind, and she hasn't even interviewed Dick yet to see what he wants!"

"Maybe," Rae said. "I'll do my best. I'll let you know how this goes."

Just as I put the phone down, I heard a soft tap at my study door.

"Come in," I called and Dick opened the door and poked his head inside.

"Weren't we supposed to start training again?" he asked.

I could feel my frown becoming a smile. "Of course," I said. "Let's go down to the cave." I put my concerns about the adoption to the back of my mind and followed as he ran down the steps to the batcave.

Dick was an incredible athlete but I also included training in the types of skills needed to maintain the equipment we used. After the physical workout (he threw me four times), I set him to work with batarang blanks, showing him how to sharpen and hone each one into usefulness. Then we had target practice.

Dick had just managed to hit one of the targets, although not a bull's-eye, when Alfred brought the telephone.

"Call for you, sir," he announced. "From Ms. Green."

"Keep working on targeting, Dick, and don't forget the wrist snap when you throw," I admonished and followed Alfred away from the training area. I picked up the telephone. "Yes, Rae?" I said hopefully.

"Hi, Bruce," she said. "It's a good thing you just bought a wing of the new children's' center. The Director has agreed to replace Miss Simms with Mark Holland, one of their more experienced social workers. He will be repeating the interview at my office tomorrow and wants to interview Dick as well. All right with you?"

I breathed a sigh of relief. "That sounds much better, Rae."

"Good," she replied. "The meeting with Holland is set for 11:00. I want to see you and Dick at 9:00 a.m. to go over just what questions you might be asked."

"Ah," I said, rubbing my eyes. "I should have done this before the last interview, shouldn't I?"

"Bruce, you're a charming man, but you generally don't have to care what people think of you. There are better ways of phrasing the essential truths of your life. I think I can help you there."

"What about Dick?" I asked. "I don't want him frightened."

"He won't be. I just want to go over the kinds of things he might be asked so that he isn't surprised. I've got kids of my own, Bruce. I don't want this to be traumatic for him either."

I nodded. "Okay, Rae, we'll be there." It was hard admitting that I needed help, but it's true. Most of Bruce Wayne's public persona is pure facade and play-acting. Having to express my true feelings without preparation is...difficult for me. I had been so preoccupied with Dick's hospitalization that it simply hadn't occurred to me that I needed to plan a strategy for their home study. I pride myself on my strategizing and planning abilities, but clearly I need to focus more.

As I considered this, I watched Dick throwing batarangs, stars and the new, smaller batarangs that I've christened 'birdarangs'. I realized that taking on a partner, especially one as vulnerable as Dick, will also require much more planning and practice. In the field, I will not be able to be as spontaneous and impulsive as the father Dick is expecting. My emotions must stay firmly squelched in favor of logical thinking. I don't dare let emotions, especially of worry or fear overcome my thinking processes or someone could die. Dick could die.

"Hey, Bruce! Look! I got a bull's-eye!" Dick shouted as I made my way back to the target area.

"Remember to call me Batman, Robin," I said as I strode over. "When we're in uniform, I'm Batman," I reminded him.

"And when you're in uniform, I am your partner and not your son," Dick repeated in a rote sing-song. "So, when do I get my uniform?"

"It's ready now, young sir," Alfred called from the other end of the cave. "Would you like to try it on?"

Dick carefully re-racked his weapons, then ran over to the showers and uniform vault area of the cave. Alfred was lifting a new uniform from the work area and carried it over to a small platform he'd constructed with a full length mirror next to it.

"Here it is, Master Dick," he said. "Is it to your liking?"

Dick gently ran a hand down the fabric. "It's beautiful, Alfred." He started skinning out of his clothing, dropping where he stood. I could see Alfred about to chide him about neatness but I shook my head gently. Today, the boy could be messy.

He dressed swiftly and was soon clad in a green tunic with green short pants underneath. Over this, he wore a padded red jerkin with a letter 'R' over the heart. I'd felt a little uncomfortable about the symbol and its placement-too much like a target for my taste. But Dick had argued with me that since I wore a bat on my chest, he had the right to an 'R' since it was his symbol. I gave in and wondered how many arguments over the years I was likely to win with this boy. The tunic was a mix of nomex and kevlar but not nearly heavy enough for my taste. I suspected that we would continue to experiment with fabrics to ensure a mix that was light enough for an acrobat but heavy enough for a protective parent. A yellow nylon cape finished the outfit, falling to Robin's knees. The colors reflected both the 'red breast' of a robin and those worn by the flying Graysons. Last of all came the utility belt. It held small compartments similar to my own belt but would carry less because of its size. I made a mental note to show Robin the secret pockets in his uniform that contained lock picks, twine and other emergency gadgets.

I found the spirit gum and a damp washcloth. While Dick giggled, I scrubbed at the area around his eyes, then dried it. "Close your eyes," I told him. He obediently did so and kept them closed while I sprayed a barrier spray around the eye area. We use spirit gum to adhere our masks and over time it can irritate the skin unless you use a barrier spray. I learned this in the early months as Batman from Alfred, a former actor.

I dipped the brush into the spirit gum and helped him to brush it around his eyes, but not too close. I gently pressed the mask on and he held it while the gum dried.

Soon Robin stood in front of the mirror, admiring himself until all three of us saw a grave omission.

"Oh dear," Alfred clicked his tongue. "I forgot the boots. A moment, young sir." He dove behind the sewing table and returned with a shoe box from a specialty shoemaker. "Don't forget these."

Grinning, Dick put on short padded socks, then slipped on the green pixie boots. Again, this was an area where I had been overruled by both Alfred and Dick. Alfred thought that pixie boots were 'charming' and Dick simply admired them. My part in the design process was ensuring that the boots had adequate padding on the soles. I had wanted boots with steel toes but Dick argued against it, saying that he wouldn't be able to climb if his toes couldn't feel the surface. Again, I gave way.

Robin, grinning broadly, now stood before me in full uniform.

"I'm sorry to wrinkle your new gear," I said, biting back a grin at just how _cute_ he looked. "But let's do some sparring and test it."

* * *

THE NEXT DAY

Rae and I spent an hour and a half going over the issues likely to be raised in my interview and something like horror gripped me when I realized just how poor a candidate for parenthood I was. I had gone into this full of the confidence that money brings, sure that anyone would happily trust a child in my care. Rae soon put that to rest.

"Business trips, Bruce. What are you going to do?" she shot at me.

"Dick will stay with Alfred, who will continue to drive him to and from school. I will curtail my business trips to no more than two or three days in the future. Anything longer and Lucius Fox will cover for me."

"Women and dating?" She gave me her 'courtroom face', gimlet eye implying that I was something that had crawled out from under a log.

"Naturally, I am an ordinary man and will continue to date because I hope to find someone to marry, a wife who can be a mother to Dick. But I have already cut down on my social obligations. Most of the newspaper clippings Miss Simms mentioned predate my becoming Dick's foster father. I might bring ladies home, but they will arrive after Dick is in bed. Since I also plan to make Dick my heir, he will attend social engagements related to Wayne Enterprises and my charitable obligations. He's already begun to learn the social niceties of his future position as the head of WE."

"Better," Rae said. "Now, tell me why you want to be a parent to this boy."

"I saw my parents murdered in front of me when I was a little older than Dick. When I watched this child's parents killed in front of him, I knew that he felt the same pain that I had. I also knew how it would eat away at him over the years and that I could help him. Knowing him since then, he's become my son in all but name. I can't imagine my life without him, he's brought such joy to me. I hope that the court will realize that Dick and I are truly good for each other and that I will do my utmost to be a good father to him." I shifted in my chair. "Well?"

"Not bad," Rae said. "Now I'll have a quick talk with Dick before the social worker arrives."


	23. The Interviews

CHAPTER 23

I felt more confident about the interview with Mark Holland since he seemed much less overtly disapproving. We had a lengthy discussion about my employment (CEO), my work hours (extensive), my wealth (substantial), my religious views (non-practicing Episcopalian) and my general philosophy of life (variable). At last he got to my dating and sexual habits, which caused me profound discomfort. I fell back on the session with Rae to give answers that were truthful and hopefully acceptable.

"I'm an ordinary man in an extraordinary situation," I said to Holland, leaning back in my chair and resting my right ankle on my left knee, arms folded. Realizing that my body language projected extreme defensiveness, I deliberately unfolded myself and tried to project calm. "I...try...to find appropriate women to date but very often the relationships are shallow when I discover that the woman is only interested in money...or publicity."

"I see," Holland made a note. "Do you see yourself marrying in the future?"

I shrugged. "Who can tell? I haven't found the right woman yet but you never know."

"How will it affect Dick when you bring a stepmother home? Have you considered the possibility that a new wife might not want a child around the house?" Holland smiled pleasantly. I knew that he was thinking about the models and actresses, all the feather-heads I'd ever dated. I could feel my body tightening again.

"Hopefully, it won't affect him negatively. As my son, Dick will always be my first priority," I replied and met his eyes firmly. "I've already seen what a poor home life can do," I said. "I grew up a lonely child because nobody cared about me. I want Dick to always have caring family around him; more than he's experienced lately, anyway."

"You're referring to his brief stay with Richard Loyd?" Holland asked.

"Dick never should have been placed there," I said, restraining my anger at Social Services and their representative seated in front of me. "He almost died and God only knows where Richie is now."

"With your five million dollars," Holland said. "Does that upset you?"

I felt my temper flare again. "I do NOT care about the money," I said, leaning forward, hands clasped to keep from punching the man's lights out. "Dick is not replaceable, money is. That...that...criminal wanted not only to extort money from me, but to murder his own blood relative for the inheritance. Richie didn't care who Dick was, he was only a source of revenue to him. How do I feel? I'm furious! I just want to take my son home in peace and protect him from predators like Richie."

"Well, I'm here to help you achieve that," Holland said. He reached into a portfolio and handed me a packet of pages stapled together. "The next part of the process isn't complicated. I'd like you to write an autobiography."

"Huh?" I said wittily. How I wished that I were out on patrol in the dark of night where I truly knew what the hell I was doing.

"This is part of the self-reflection process. The home study is a way of educating yourself about your attitudes towards parenthood, your relationships with your own parents, your parenting style, how you handle stress and, ultimately, what Dick can expect from you as a father. By writing the story of your life, you'll be more aware of your own attitudes and assumptions." Then he smiled at me, twitching a wrinkle out of his cardigan sweater.

It was then that I realized who he reminded me of...Mister Rivers...that smug guy on the kid's tv show with all those puppets...the one with the sweater. I hated that guy, with his condescending voice...Oh wait, he was talking again...

"The questions in the packet will help. We just need to get to know you better, to evaluate your qualities as a parent," he said, still smiling. I scanned the questions and was appalled.

"There are three pages of questions here. This autobiography could run to twenty or more pages...Where will I find time to do this?" I said, gulping.

A hard edge entered Holland's voice. "Oh, I'm sure you'll find the time if you trim your social life a bit. If you need any help, feel free to call me and I'll be happy to answer any questions you have." He checked his watch. "Damn. Look at the time. I'm sorry, Mr. Wayne, but I have an appointment waiting for me. I won't be able to meet with Dick today. Can I visit with him next week? Say...Tuesday at 1:00?"

I was too floored by the whole process to do anything but nod blankly. Holland left for his appointment, leaving me with a nervous boy.

"He doesn't want to talk to me?" Dick asked after the door closed. "Why not?"

"I'm sorry, Dick," I said, ruffling his hair. "Our talk ran long and he had another appointment waiting. You'll see him next week and it'll be fine," I added a note of reassurance to my voice and led him out the door.

* * *

That evening, Robin and I had a successful sparring session. He managed to trip me, then plowed into me until I landed on my back on the mat. Then he hopped onto my chest and refused to let me up until I cried 'uncle'. He was strutting in triumph until Alfred came down the stairs.

"Master Robin, it is now your bedtime. Time to come upstairs, young sir."

Robin cast me a look of entreaty, blue eyes wide. "How will I ever be able to patrol with you, Batman, if I'm not used to staying up late? Can't I come with you, just to watch?"

I regarded Robin, thinking hard. True, he'd been practicing diligently and was making amazing progress. He deserved a reward for all the work he'd put in, but there would be restrictions.

"All right, Robin, you can come tonight..." I waited until his whooping died down. "But there are rules. First, you stay where I put you. You are NOT to engage any criminals, even if you think I need help. You don't have experience and I do, so you'll take your lead from me. Second. You follow my orders, immediately. Third. If you perceive any danger to yourself, you are to run back to the batmobile and lock yourself in. The car is armored and bullet-resistant; you'll be safe there. Agreed?"

He nodded his head eagerly and, against my better judgment, I let him go with me. I caught Alfred's look of concern as I got into the car. "Don't worry, Alfred," I said as I started the car. "I'll keep a close eye on him."

"I certainly hope so, sir," Alfred said.

It was a beautiful night, crystal clear with the stars shining above and a full moon. We patrolled slowly through my usual route, seeing little action. I caught a purse snatcher near the bus stop and let Robin give the purse back to the elderly woman who had been robbed. She reacted in a way I've since come to expect: she cooed in delight when she saw Robin in his cape and pixie boots. "Oh, you're such a good boy," she said, taking her purse. "You're so sweet! And your name is Robin? Well, thank you, Robin. And you, Batman!" She smiled at us both. We stayed until the bus arrived to take her home.

Robin was beaming and I had to stifle a smile to keep my trademark grim expression. We drove around the block and parked. I took out my grapple-gun and motioned to Robin. He took his own, smaller-sized gun out and we both shot lines at the top of the nearest building. After I'd checked his line, we shot into the air, landing on the roof. From there, we moved from building to building, sometimes using the grapples and sometimes not.

Robin followed me closely. I stopped a couple of times and had him recite the route back to the batmobile. He was always able to rattle off the path back to safety. We stood in the shadow of the Wayne Building when I heard muffled voices. Looking two stories down, I saw a group of four men with crowbars prying open the back door of a jewelry store.

"Stay here," I hissed to Robin and swung down silently, landing behind the little group. I had the first two down before the ones busy with the door noticed me. I was dealing with them when I heard Robin cry out.

"Batman! Behind you!"

I spun, to see a fifth man with a crowbar swinging on Robin. The boy had seen the man about to hit me with the bar, had dropped down and thrown himself between me and my attacker. Before I could get to him, the crook brought the crowbar down onto Robin's arm with a loud crack. Robin fell to his knees, moaning and clutching his arm. The man was about to hit him again when I moved in. I pounded the man until he was a moaning heap in the street.

After I had tied all five of the burglars, I called G.P.D., then knelt to check on my boy. He sat on the pavement, holding his arm with a white face and bitten lip. "Let me see," I said gently. I palpated it gently and decided that it was probably a break. "Can you walk?"

He nodded, still biting his lip and tried to climb to his feet. I caught him as he fell over, picked him up and carried him to the street. The batmobile arrived by remote five minutes later. I sat him in the passenger seat and buckled him, then wrapped the emergency blanket around him. "We're going to Leslie's," I told him. "Will you be okay till then? Do you feel dizzy or sick?"

He shook his head 'no'. I pulled open a plastic bag and handed it to him. "Just in case," I said when he looked at it resentfully.

Leslie Thompkin's clinic was nearby, and we heard the sirens from the police as we were climbing the steps. Leslie was surprised to see me.

"Bruce, what are you...Who is that?" she stopped and looked down at the boy who wobbled next to me. "Who are you?"

"This is Robin," I answered. "It's his first night out and he was supposed to stay where it was safe and observe," I said, looking down at my new partner, then sighed. "He saved me from a fractured skull tonight, Leslie, at the cost of his arm. Can you help him?"

"Surely this isn't...Dick?" she asked, gently removing Robin's mask. Big blue eyes looked back up at her.

"She's not supposed to know...?" He looked up at me.

"It's okay, Dick. Leslie's in on the secret. Now let her take a look at you," I said.

After a thorough examination and x-rays, Leslie diagnosed a broken wrist and put it in a cast. "He'll be in the cast for about four weeks, then I'll give you some physical therapy instructions. Do you understand, Dick?" she said to Robin. "I don't want you doing acrobatics or trapeze until your wrist is out of the cast."

Dick's face fell and he said softly, "I understand." He looked up at me. "I'm sorry, Ba..Bruce. I should have obeyed you. I guess I'm not good enough to be your partner..."

"It's okay, chum," I said, drawing a relieved breath and putting a hand on his shoulder. "You saved me tonight and convinced me that I really do need a partner out there. I need you watching out for me more than ever." Even though he had disobeyed orders, he had done it for the right reason. But we had to work on his defensive moves and Robin definitely wasn't ready to fly just yet.

From the corner of my eye I could see Leslie's set face. I knew that she and I would be discussing my new partner soon.

Next Tuesday, Dick and I were at Rae's offices for Dick's interview. When I was there before, I had taken the opportunity to bug the conference room. I sat outside, quietly listening in to Dick's interview with Holland.

* * *

DICK'S INTERVIEW

"Why don't you have a seat, Dick," Holland said smoothly and stopped. "Why Dick, what happened to your arm?"

Dick and I had prepared for this. "I took a bad fall off the trapeze. I hit my arm when I landed," Dick said in a casual voice. "It looks like no acrobatics for a few weeks."

"I see," Holland said. "Doesn't Wayne have a spotter or someone to watch you when you do your acrobatics?"

"Oh, yeah. Sometimes Bruce is there and sometimes Alfred. But I've been flying since I was a little kid. I know what to do," Dick replied.

"Hmmmm...I wonder...Well, anyway, I know that Mr. Wayne wants to adopt you, but we need to know what you think about it too," Holland said.

Good. Excuse accepted. I relaxed a bit.

"Oh, I want him to adopt me," Dick said quickly. "I don't want to belong to anybody else!"

That's my boy!

"Let's get better acquainted, shall we?" Holland said. "What's your favorite subject in school?"

"Uh...it's hard to say. I really love gymnastics class, but the most interesting is math. My teacher, Mr. Sheffield, is going to teach me symbolic logic next semester."

"Symbolic logic? That's pretty advanced for a fourth grader," Holland said.

"Sixth grade here in Gotham. That stupid school in Metropolis put me in the fourth and I was so bored! Then I got so restless, they wanted to drug me..." Dick's voice trailed off and I knew that he was remembering Richie. I wanted to go into that room and protect him but knew that I couldn't. He had to handle it himself.

"I hear that your cousin gave you drugs to calm you down," the social worker said and I heard the scratch of pen on paper. "Did anyone ever say why?"

"Something about me being hyper..something," Dick said. "I am not, though, whatever it is they said. Bruce has never wanted to give me drugs for anything! And neither did my parents...when they were still alive..."

"You miss them, don't you?" Holland said softly. "And Mr. Wayne was the first person to show an interest in you after they died..."

"Yeah, he was the _only_ one who wanted me," Dick said sharply. "Nobody would take me. Miss Simms thought that because I was Rom there was something wrong with me. I know that look! Bruce gave me a home and...and...took care of me when I needed it."

"There are lots of nice families who would love to adopt a little boy like you," Holland said. "Wouldn't you rather have parents?"

"I had parents, but they died," Dick said bitterly. "And Bruce has been great to me."

"You could have brothers and sisters and two parents instead of a playboy bachelor and an old man taking care of you." Holland's voice was coaxing.

"Alfred isn't old! You take it back! You take it back!" Dick said angrily.

"I'm sorry." Mr. Holland sounded honestly contrite. "I take it back. I've never met Alfred. Tell me about him."

"He's great! He takes care of us. He cleans the house and cooks wonderful meals and tries to teach me manners. He makes me wash my hands before meals and tells me that 'young gentlemen' don't run in the house," Dick's voice sounded wistful. If I didn't know and agree with everything he was saying, I might have been a bit jealous.

"He does sound very special. How do you feel about Alfred babysitting you?"

"You mean when Bruce is gone? That's fine. Alfie and I polish the silverware together or he'll let me help him make dinner. We talk about everything..."

"Have you ever done anything wrong, so that Bruce had to punish you for something?"

"A couple of times. I climbed the chandelier in the foyer and Bruce wasn't happy about that," Dick said cheerfully. "He made me wash and polish all his cars for a week."

"You climbed..." Holland was speechless for a second. "Uh...okay. I understand that you come from the circus, that you were an acrobat. Is that right?"

"There's no 'were', I am an acrobat," Dick said proudly. "I'm one of the flying Graysons. We did trapeze...without a net."

"What does Bruce think about that?"

"He bought me a trapeze set up and I'm teaching him to fly." Dick sounded smug as only an eight year old can. "Of course, he's teaching me Judo in exchange. I threw him four times yesterday!"

"I see. Do you think that you might ever want a more...ordinary...placement than Bruce? After you're adopted you can't change your mind, you know."

"I want Bruce. Why can't you just leave us alone? I don't want anybody else, just Bruce," Dick said. I could picture his face, tousled hair with that one lock flopping over his eyes. He never could keep that under control. Maybe if I couldn't persuade them, Dick could. I could only hope.


	24. The Calm Before the Storm

CHAPTER 24: Calm Before the Storm

Life returned to normal at the manor. Dick returned to school and I had a talk to him about his safety as Robin.

"I'm sorry, son, but it was just too soon for you to come out patrolling with me," I reassured him over the dinner table. "By the time I'm done training you, you should be able to take multiple assailants. But I don't want you out there until I'm sure of your ability to defend yourself."

"But you're in danger out there," Dick pushed his vegetables around his plate. "What if you get hurt because I'm not there?"

"It's a chance I've been taking for the past two years before you came to the manor," I said firmly. "You'll go out when you're ready and not before."

Dick just sighed and I knew that he'd accepted my directive. Since his arm was out of commission for a while, we worked on his stealth skills. I have a way of fading into the darkness which tends to frighten my enemies and baffle my friends: Gordon springs to mind. I began to teach Dick how to move silently and fade into the background. With that in mind, I began a redesign of his uniform. The yellow cape was just too bright when seen from behind. I had Alfred rework it so that it had a black exterior with a yellow lining. That way, Robin could still distract the crooks but wouldn't be seen from behind. If he needed to blend into the shadows, he could gather the cap around himself and not be seen.

Winter had arrived and Christmas was around the corner. Gotham can have some deep snows and it was especially deep that year. I was wearing long underwear beneath my uniform (what Robin was calling 'thermal bat-underwear' with a smirk). If the boy were patrolling with me, he'd be frozen.

I had Alfred get some black spandex leggings for Robin and redo the tunic part of the uniform. We eliminated the green sleeves and made the whole thing red and black. Red for the Flying Graysons, black for stealth. I finally talked Robin out of the pixie boots and ordered some jika-tabi made. Jika-tabi, or split-toe boots have soft soles for greater gripping ability. They are often worn by Japanese steelworkers on high construction projects. I was even able to find some with reinforced toes for crush protection. This would enable Robin to climb easily, yet protect his feet from crush injuries.

Now with a short sleeved red tunic with contrast yellow ties and black sleeves, gloves and boots as well as mask, Robin could blend safely into the shadows when he wrapped himself in his cape. The utility belt didn't change, still yellow with compartments containing useful items. When he saw the redesign, Robin admitted that he liked its sleekness much better. I knew that he was disappointed at not being able to take it out on patrol, but by this time he knew that I was adamant. He wasn't going out until he was able to defend himself.

Because of the injury, Robin worked on his leg strength and batarang aim, throwing one handed. Additionally, I started him studying forensics, evidence gathering and criminal law. Dick Grayson also returned to school.

He reported to me later that the bullies ran when they saw him, even while wearing the cast. He had frightened them enough that they now avoided him. He began to enjoy school, especially mathematics and history. Gym would also be on this list except that he was excused because of the wrist fracture. I also noticed that he seemed to have a new best friend, young Barbara Gordon, Commissioner Gordon's adopted daughter. I must admit that I was happy about this turn of events, since Barbara had helped him to defend himself against the bullies, I had kept an eye on her. She was a very sharp girl and promised to become an exceptional adult as long as Gordon didn't persuade her to join the Gotham Police. With her obvious intellectual gifts and physical abilities, she deserved something better than being a beat cop in one of the most corrupt departments this side of Bludhaven.

* * *

Alfred went to the Department of Social Services for his own interview. He wouldn't allow me to bug his jacket or the premises, but did report later that the interviewer, Mr. Holland, seemed obsessed with Alfred's age. Alfred reported the following exchange to me:

Holland: "How many years have you served the Wayne family?"

Alfred: "Since before Master Bruce was born, about thirty two years, sir."

Holland: "And what is your current age?"

Alfred: "I just turned sixty years old."

Holland: "How long to you plan to remain in Mr. Wayne's employ? Most Americans retire at 65."

Alfred: "For as long as Master Bruce will have me, I will remain. My own father served the Waynes before me until he died at age ninety two."

Holland: "At your age, do you feel capable of handling an active boy?"

Alfred: "Indeed, yes. Master Dick is active but he is also obedient. He and I get along very well and I have no worries about my ability to supervise him. Since it is common in this country for grandparents to raise their grandchildren, I would hardly expect it to be considered unusual."

Holland: "But he isn't your grandchild. You're a servant. You could be fired or quit at any time."

Alfred: "I helped to raise Master Bruce after his parents were killed. I think of him as a son, rather than an employer. Young Dick is like a grandson to me. We may not be related by blood, but I know family when I see it."

* * *

Since the home study began, I had curtailed my social life but couldn't cut it off entirely. Unfortunately, it still had its uses and I couldn't cancel those events which were charity-related. One evening I was due to attend a bachelor party, one of many I seem to have attended that year. Most of my old schoolmates were either married or in the process of marrying. It was beginning to look as though I would be the lone bachelor in my social set.

While I was dressing, I kept an eye on the television. Dick wandered in to chat and, I suspected, just to spend time with me. We both stilled when the news reported a breakout from Arkham Asylum. The Joker was loose.

Dick gave me an anxious look. "Are you still going to the party? Because of _him_?"

I had given him the Joker's file to read as a means of instilling caution after Dick's last injury. He was, and is, fully capable of disobeying orders and following me if he sees a need. The healthy respect I had hoped it would engender had clearly taken effect.

"I'll go to the party, then get into uniform and try to find out where the Joker's gone." I slipped on my dinner jacket and caught sight of my boy's worried face. "Don't worry, Dick. I've tangled with the Joker before. It'll be fine."

"Are you sure you don't need backup?" Dick asked.

"I can't really take you to a bachelor party, chum," I chuckled, imagining the looks that would raise. "I promise, Dick, I'll be okay. Don't you trust Batman?"

He stood up straight, an adult look in his eyes. For a second, I could see the man he would grow to be. "I'll hold you to that, Bruce. Don't you dare break your promise to me."

I reached out and hugged him close. "I'll be back tonight, chum. Just you wait and see."

I went to the bachelor party and drank a couple of ginger ales, then took my leave after taking care to be photographed being kissed by a stripper or two. I knew that the photos would debut in tomorrow's Gotham Gazette along with further reinforcement of my identity as Bruce Wayne, socialite.

Outside, I called the batmobile to me and quickly changed into uniform. Then I set out to find the Joker. I started with his known haunts. I must admit that I was a bit distracted. I kept my senses primed for evidence of a shadow in yellow and red who might be following me, but every time I turned suddenly there was no one. Despite the danger, I was almost disappointed that Robin hadn't disobeyed orders.

The night was quiet and Joker's bolt holes were empty. I wouldn't find him tonight...no, this morning. The sun was rising as I pulled the batmobile to a halt inside the batcave. Bone weary, I made my way toward the costume vault, only to see a small figure, wrapped in a blanket, curled up in my computer chair. I moved closer and saw that he was clad in his batman pajamas and fast asleep. I pulled off my cowl and left it on the computer desk, then carried my young worry-wart up to his bed. I was just closing his bedroom door when I met Alfred, clad in his bathrobe.

"He insisted on waiting up for you, sir," Alfred said softly, pulling me away from Dick's room, lest we wake him. "He would not be persuaded to go to bed."

We entered my bedroom. "You covered him with the blanket?" I asked, finally pulling the kevlar suit off my tired body. "When did he go downstairs?"

"As soon as you left, sir. He kept vigil there the entire night. He was truly worried about you, out there alone against that villain." Alfred quirked an eyebrow. "How went the hunt?"

The boots thudded to the floor next to the uniform. "No luck. The night was quiet. I think most of Gotham heard about Joker's breakout and went into hiding."

"Well, sir, that's a relief. Master Dick isn't the only one who worries when you fight against the Joker," Alfred said with a sniff, then moved over to close the heavy drapes. "Since Master Dick had little sleep last night, I assume that he will not be attending school today?"

I nodded. "He can miss today, but if he stays up again he'll go anyway. He can't sit vigil every night I'm out there without him." I yawned and stretched. "Please wake me at the usual time, Alfred."

"Very well, sir," he replied, closing the door. In the quiet darkness, I settled into sleep. I'd never had anyone who cared about me enough to stay up waiting for me, except maybe Alfred. This family thing was...kind of comforting.

* * *

Over the ensuing weeks, I found no sign of the Joker but the home study continued. They inspected the house, interviewed both Alfred and I multiple times. Only my commitment to this adoption kept my temper in check.

Finally, the Home Study report came in. As soon as it arrived, I read it over twice, then sat at my desk, eyes staring, the pages crumpled in my hand.

They hadn't listened to one word I had said. They had ignored Alfred. Most important, they paid no attention to Dick and what he wanted. The finding said it best:

While the minor, Richard Grayson, seems to have bonded to Mr. Wayne in the brief time since the boy's parents died, nevertheless we cannot recommend this home for him.

Bruce Wayne is certainly a generous and philanthropic man, but his lifestyle is such that we feel he should not be entrusted with the welfare of a minor. Given his history of brief relationships without any commitment, we consider it likely that Mr. Wayne's interest in the boy would fade in time. He would be better served by getting a pet, than a son.


	25. Early Thunder

Sorry this chapter is so short, but the next chapter will be coming up this weekend.

CHAPTER 25

I telephoned Rae Green, who had already read the report.

"I can't say that I'm surprised, Bruce," she said. "You knew from the outset what the outcome was likely to be."

"I'm not backing down," I said, through clenched teeth. "I won't see Dick put in a group home or an orphanage. He deserves better than that! We're going to fight this! You know what's going to happen next, Rae..."

"Yeah, I do. I'll take care of it."

* * *

That evening, they came.

Dick and I were having dinner when Alfred appeared in the dining room. His face was impassive, but I know his tells. Alfred was upset.

"There are visitors for you, Master Bruce," my butler said.

Laying down my napkin, I rose from the table. "I'll see them in my study." I turned to Dick, giving him a smile of reassurance. "Go ahead and finish your dinner, Dick. I'll be right back."

After Alfred closed the door, he pulled me to one side. "Our visitors are from the Social Services agency. Miss Simms and Mr. Holland. They have a police officer with them."

I nodded but kept my face unreadable. When I read their report, I had had a feeling that this might happen. I told Alfred and opened the study door.

Simms and Holland were seated and a burly uniformed cop stood behind them. Miss Simms flashed me a triumphant look. "We've come to pick up the boy."

I glared at them both and sat down behind the desk. "Where are you taking him?"

"He'll be in the Gotham Juvenile Detention Center until we can place him in a foster or group home," Simms said. "It's hard to find adoptive homes at his age."

"He has an adoptive home," I gritted. "Mine."

"I'm sorry," Holland said, showing real sympathy in his face. "But your lifestyle is just not suitable for a growing child. Our recommendation is that your request to adopt be denied, based on..."

"The fact that I'm a playboy, isn't that right?" I said, anger burning inside. It wasn't fair. It just wasn't fair. I played the socialite so that Batman could do his job and protect Gotham, but because of the facade I was going to lose someone...necessary...to me. "I'm going to fight this. I hope you know that," I said.

"Officer Wright is here to ensure that we leave with the boy," Holland said. "We thought that you might be...um...upset. He will go with you to retrieve Dick."

I opened the top desk drawer, removing the document that Rae had faxed to me just an hour before. "Maybe this will change your mind," I said, handing it to Holland.

He looked it over impassively, then sighed. "Okay, I guess you get to keep the boy until we meet in court."

"What is it?" Miss Simms asked, craning her neck to see the document.

"It's a court order requiring us to leave the minor here until the court hearing on the adoption." Holland carefully folded the court order and put it into his pocket. "You know that we're only interested in Dick's welfare, Mr. Wayne."

"I already know what is best for the boy," I replied stiffly, leading them to the office door. "Alfred, please show these people out."

After they had all left the study, I closed the door and sank back into the desk chair, allowing myself to have the shakes. That had been close. Too close. Briefly, the thought of stealing Dick and setting up a new home in some other country without extradition treaties ran through my mind... But no, my life was in Gotham and I was staying here. With my son.

I heard a light knock and the door opened. "Bruce?" Dick said, standing in the doorway, face pale. "I just saw Alfred take Miss Simms, Mr. Holland and a cop to the front door. They were here for me, weren't they?"

Answer truthfully and watch Dick fight with nightmares? Tell him a lie and let him believe falsely that things were fine? I might have paused too long, because Dick's face dropped. "That's what I thought," he said. "How come they aren't taking me to the Juvenile Center?"

"Dick, come over here by the fireplace and let's talk," I said, sitting on the couch and patting the seat next to me. Dick shuffled his way over to the seat and hoisted himself up next to me.

"Bruce, don't lie to me. They don't like you, do they?" He fumbled with his shoe laces and wouldn't meet my eyes. "They're gonna take me away from you and put me in a group home or something until I'm old enough to run away..."

Until he was old enough to..."Dick, we don't know yet what the court is going to do. We have to try." He still wasn't looking at me. All the spark in the boy's soul seemed to have been leached away. "C'mon, Dick, you're not a quitter." He hunched his shoulders under the arm I wrapped around him. I shook him a bit. "I'm not giving up and you can't either." I framed it as positively as I could, all the while trying to mask the sinking feeling I had in my gut. Bruce Wayne, empty-headed carouser was a bad bet for a father, and the world knew nothing about the good that Bruce Wayne, aka Batman was doing.

Dick finally turned his face toward me, eyes filled with such sadness that my heart ached for him. "Bruce...I just don't want...to lose anyone else..." He ran an arm under his nose before I could give him a handkerchief. "And anyway, shouldn't you be out on patrol catching the Joker?"

"Damn the Joker," I said under my breath, remembering where my duty lay. This boy needed me...but so did Gotham. I wanted to spend the time with Dick, maybe the last few days I'd ever get to see him. I took in a ragged breath. "Dick, we're going to court in four days...We're going to win." I wholeheartedly wished that I believed that.

"Yeah...right," Dick said, looking away again. He hopped down from the couch. "I think I'm going to bed. G'night Bruce. Night Alfie," he said as he brushed past Alfred, who was on his way into the room.

Alfred looked from me, slumped on the couch, to a visibly tearful Dick, making his way to the stairs. He marched over to where I sat and positioned himself immediately in front of me. "Bruce Thomas Wayne!" he barked. "You know, better than anyone, that defeat is a choice! Get up off your arse and use that finely honed intellect to keep your son!"

I shot bolt upright. Alfred hadn't used that tone with me since I was a whiny thirteen year old. As I stood before the man who raised me, I thought I caught a sparkle in his eye. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?" I said dryly.

"Indeed, I do not. I have never seen you give up on any goal you set yourself, and I don't want you to begin now. You love Dick Grayson like a son, therefore you _will _make it so, legally. Now make sure it happens," Alfred turned his back on me, heading for the door. He stopped just short of the threshold. "And Master Bruce, you should go to that boy and give him some encouragement. You are truly all he has now. You can't let him down."

I realized that I had always been confident before because I had had nothing important to lose. This time, I stood to lose a large piece of my newly rekindled heart and soul. If I failed now, the losing would hurt more than my parents' death had.

"Dick? Are you asleep?" I called softly from his bedroom door. I heard a sniffle and a hoarse voice called from the bed.

"Bruce?"

I turned on the light and found Dick huddled in his bed, blankets pulled to his chin. His suitcase sat open on the dresser, all his belongings neatly packed, with Zitka on top. "Where are you planning on going, chum?"

"I dunno," Dick said. "But not to the Juvenile Center. I'll live on the streets before I go there." He pulled the blanket away to show that he was fully dressed, down to his shoes. "I can sell the nice clothes you got me and live on that for a while."

I imagined Dick on the streets of Gotham, a young boy alone. My mind quickly ran through all the things that could happen to him, none of them good. Instead, I sat next to him on his bed. "Dick, I'm going to have to ask you to trust me. I'm as scared of the court hearing as you are. That's one of the reasons I need you as a partner."

"Why is that?" Dick asked.

"I need you there, fighting beside me. I can't do this without you, and neither of us can get through this without faith. When you fall, I hold you up. When I fall, you support me. That's what a partnership is." I held out my hand. "How about it?"

"All right," Dick said and we shook on it. His grip was surprisingly strong for an eight year old.


	26. Trial, Part I

CHAPTER 26: TRIAL

Author's note: I consulted the following comics and have used ideas and/or dialogue from them: Batman 20, Batman 439, Nightwing 75

* * *

The sun was rising when I finally caught up with the Joker. He had jokerized an entire greasy spoon restaurant, complaining that the waitresses didn't look happy enough. While he was still hooting and cackling over his dying victims, I charged him and took him down. My respirator functioned perfectly. I spent the next hour dosing the customers and wait-staff that hadn't died immediately with the venom's antidote while the EMTs and paramedics worked over them.

My communicator beeped at me and I stepped outside to take the call. "Yes, Alfred?"

"Sir, we are at court. Where are you?" Alfred asked.

Court...? Oh no. I checked the time and realized that I should have been there ten minutes ago. Today wasn't a day to use my standard Bruce Wayne tactic of lazily strolling in late, wondering what all the fuss was about.

"I'm on my way," I said and ran to the car. Fortunately, I've mastered the art of the quick change and purposely constructed a batmobile with smoked windows big enough to accommodate costume changes.

* * *

When I arrived at the court house, the lobby was crowded with reporters armed with cameras, television and still. The bulbs went off like machine guns as I pushed my way through. I have often been tempted to clock some of the pushier reporters, but have always resisted the urge. That day, it was harder than ever to control that impulse, but I kept reminding myself that I was doing this for Dick. I had to be a paragon of virtue...or at least try to present myself as one. I was feeling a new sense of confidence.

I opened the courtroom door to find Dick and Alfred seated at the counsel table next to Rae Green. At the other table sat Miss Simms, Mr. Holland and the attorney for Social Services. Just as I slid into my seat next to Rae, the bailiff called the court to order and the judge entered.

"Good morning," the judge said briskly. "We are here in the matter of the adoption of Richard Grayson. That would be you, wouldn't it?" he said, looking at Dick.

Dick gave him his patented cheeky grin. The judge smiled back and went back to his file. "Now, I understand from the pleadings that this adoption is contested? The Department of Social Services doesn't believe that Mr. Bruce Wayne is a fit parent for the minor. Something about a...hedonistic lifestyle? " He peered over his glasses at Holland and Simms. "You do understand that the party who contests and adoption has the burden of proving that the potential adopter is unfit?"

The City Attorney said, "Social Services understands and is ready to present our case."

"All right then, tell me why Gotham's richest man and most famous philanthropist is unfit to adopt this child." The judge folded his ample arms and leaned back in his chair.

"I can offer an opening statement, Your Honor," said the City Attorney. "The Department of Social Services has made a determination that the minor, Richard Grayson's best interest would not be served by allowing Bruce Wayne to adopt. First, in the roughly six months since coming into Wayne's custody as a foster child, Richard has suffered various injuries which were not adequately explained..."

"Hey! " Dick jumped to his feet and yelled. "That's not fair!"

"You'll get your chance to explain, Richard," the judge said. "Sit down."

"It's Dick, not Richard," Dick said and allowed my hand on his shoulder to push him down into his seat. "Well, it wasn't your fault..." he muttered for my hearing. I suppressed a smile.

"Ahem," the City Attorney said. "To continue...We have monitored Mr. Wayne's active work and social life and determined that he simply doesn't have time to spend with a child. Additionally, in his very active...er...dating life, he brings a large and varied number of young women home to his mansion as overnight guests. Morally, we do not find this to be a fit environment for a young boy. Lastly, he has no apparent plans to hire a nanny or other adult to care for the minor. Rather, the only live-in servant in the place, an overworked, elderly butler is to provide child care in addition to his regular duties as valet, butler, chef and chauffeur."

"Well! I like that!" I heard Alfred mutter from the seat behind me.

They called Miss Simms first, as Rae and I expected. She settled in her chair.

"Would you state your name and your position for the record?" the attorney asked.

"Alberta Simms. I'm a social worker at the Department of Social Services," she said, sitting primly.

"And you were the original caseworker assigned to this minor?"

"Oh yes. I'm the one who picked him up the night his parents were killed. They were a trapeze act in the Haly Circus, gypsies you know...Itinerant performers."

"I see. And the minor was placed with Bruce Wayne? Why?"

"Well," she sighed a bit. "The Juvenile Center was overloaded that night and gypsy children are notoriously difficult to place. Well, Mr. Wayne's offer was heaven-sent. My supervisors immediately approved Mr. Wayne as a temporary foster parent. That was before we found out in depth the kind of lifestyle he leads..."

"And what lifestyle is that?" the attorney asked.

"His pitiful cafe society, playboy existence. In the four months I was tracking the case, the boy has been witness to seven bachelor parties, something on the order of eighteen late night female guests, and the boy himself has sported a black eye, bruises and a fractured wrist..."

"That wasn't his fault! You don't even know what you're talking about! I already told you I got hurt at school and you won't even _listen_ to me! _Please_, let me stay with Mister Wayne, Your Honor! _Please!_" Again, Dick was on his feet.

The judge sighed and said, "Take your seat, young man."

"But..." Dick pled.

I put a hand on his back. "Do as he says, Dick..."

Unhappily, Dick sank back down into his chair. I leaned in and murmured in his ear. "Remember, Dick. Nothing is impassable. There is always a way around." I smiled at him with restored confidence and he settled down. The days since they'd tried to take the boy away from me again had been full of planning, and not only with my team of lawyers. I had a rabbit up my sleeve and a contingency plan if that failed.

The testimony continued. Miss Simms was spelled by Mr. Holland. He tried to be kinder but was no less pointed: I was a poor example of parenthood for a growing boy, despite my wealth and the advantages I could give Dick. Rae got up to cross examine Holland and I straightened up.

"Mr. Holland, when you visited Wayne Manor, did you find the area clean?"

"Why, yes. It was very clean," Holland said.

"Everything was in repair? There was power and light? Bathrooms?"

"If you're implying that Wayne lives in squalor, no he does not!" Holland snapped. "That's not our point."

"No, Mr. Holland. I am not implying anything of the kind. I'm merely consulting the standards you are required to go by when a child is placed with a foster parent...or an adoptive one." She looked at her notes and continued. "Did you find evidence that Dick Grayson was eating three meals a day? Perhaps more?" She smiled and a dimple showed. "I understand that Alfred bakes a mean chocolate chip cookie."

"Yes, the boy was well-nourished," Holland's face went expressionless.

"How about clothing? Were his clothes outgrown? Patched? Maybe worn out in spots?"

"No, his clothing was new. Mostly from Nieman-Marcus."

"And I understand that you observed Bruce Wayne with the boy? Was Mr. Wayne abusive to him?"

"No, not at all. They seemed very...cordial...to each other," Holland said.

"Your report says that there is 'evidence that Richard has bonded to Bruce Wayne'. What evidence did you observe?"

"The boy considers Wayne a trusted friend..."Holland muttered.

"I see. And when they are together, does Dick behave as if Bruce were a parent?" Rae dimpled again.

"Yes."

"Does Bruce act like a parent with Dick?"

"Yes."

"Have you ever seen Bruce Wayne mistreat Dick in any way at all?"

"No."

"Did Dick indicate what his own preferences are vis a vis this adoption?"

The Social Services attorney stood up. "That's hardly relevant, Your Honor. The minor's wishes need not be consulted if the child is under the age of twelve. Richard is only eight and too young to know what is in his best interests."

"On the contrary," Rae replied. "Dick knows who loves him, far better than the members of the DSS who have evaluated the situation so far. It was the Department of Social Services, abiding by its own policies that endangered this child by placing him with Richie Grayson, who almost managed to murder him. I would say that Dick Grayson knows what is in his best interests better than either Miss Simms or Mr. Holland."

The judge meditated a moment, then said, "You can answer the question Mr. Holland."

"In my interview with him, Richard said that he wanted to be adopted by Bruce Wayne."

The Department of Social Services brought a child psychologist who had never met Dick to testify. He said that it was in Dick's best interest that he have both a father and a mother to raise him. Rae shot that down fast.

"Dr. Hein, as far as you know, are there any couples waiting to adopt Dick?"

"No."

"Do you know what the DSS proposes as Dick's placement?"

"Ah...I understand they are planning on either foster care or, more likely a therapeutic group home for the boy."

"Do you agree?"

"I don't have an opinion, not having examined the boy. I will say that, given the recent trauma of having witnessed his parents' deaths and then his own life endangered, that a period of therapy would be appropriate for any child. Hence, I would agree that a therapeutic group home would not be uncalled for, especially since Richard has a fairly rough background," Dr. Hein myopically rubbed his glasses and stared at Dick's look of outrage.

"A rough background, meaning he has gypsy blood and was raised in a circus as a performer?" Rae's face took on a faint look of distaste.

Dr. Hein nodded vigorously. "Yes, that is precisely what I mean."

"That's all for this witness, Your Honor," she snorted and walked back to the table.

In the meantime, I was doing my best to keep Dick restrained. He had drawn the judge's eye more than once at the implication that he was too young to know what was good for him and that he belonged in a psychiatric facility. Dick looked near exploding with rage.

"If you have no more witnesses, then I'll allow the Petitioner to present his case. Ms. Green, call your first witness, please."


	27. The Trial, Part II

Author's note: I consulted the following comics and have used ideas and/or dialogue from them: Batman 20, Batman 439, Nightwing 75

CHAPTER 27: The Trial part II

I straightened up, my stomach suddenly clenching. This was it, for good or bad, I was committed to the course I had chosen.

"I call Bruce Wayne to the stand," Rae said and smiled at me. I stood and walked over to the stand. I was careful to keep my body language unassuming and, dare I say? humble. This was one place where neither the arrogance of Bruce Wayne nor the commanding presence of Batman belonged. I was sworn in and consciously took down my barriers. If I wanted to persuade the judge, I had to be...vulnerable and human. I hate vulnerable and human.

"Mr. Wayne, would you tell us how you met Dick Grayson?"

I thought back to that fateful night. "I had decided to attend the circus that night. I especially was interested in seeing the Flying Graysons; I had heard that they were the masters of their art." I looked over at Dick who looked sad, knowing what was coming. "I watched the Graysons do their act, and then the trapeze line broke and I watched Dick's parents die in front of me. All that was left was a small, grief-stricken boy beyond comfort." I met Dick's eyes and tried to give him a look of encouragement.

"Did you have any contact with Dick that evening?" Rae asked. I jerked a bit, brought back from memory.

"Oh, yes. I spoke with Police Commissioner Gordon, asking what would happen to the boy. He told me that the Graysons had been murdered and that Dick was a material witness. After that, Miss Simms," I nodded toward her. "Came over asking for help. Dick had run away from her. Dick knew that she planned to take him to the Youth Center for the night and that he would probably end up in a group home because of his Gypsy background. Dick held the belief that because of his ethnicity he would be treated differently." I stared at Holland and Simms. "I can see now that he was right."

"Did you have any other reason to believe that Dick might be treated differently by the Department of Social Services?" Rae asked.

I nodded. "At Miss Simms' request, I ran after Dick. When she finally caught up with us, her manner told me that she held a prejudice against Dick somehow. When she saw the Grayson's family trailer, she looked at it as though it harbored rats or roaches or some other undesirable creatures. Because of that, I was the one who helped Dick pack his belongings and offered to take him in."

"Bruce, why do you want to adopt this boy?" Rae's voice was soft. I made sure to make eye contact with the judge.

"I've been asked why I want to adopt Dick, as though this were just some momentary whim that a well-known playboy has decided upon. We all know my reputation and I can't deny that some of it is probably well-deserved. But this is no whim." I looked at the judge, then turned and fixed my gaze at Dick, willing him to understand. "My parents were killed by criminals, as were his. I know what it's like. I know the loneliness. The fears. The nightmares. I know it all. Nobody understood when it happened to me. Nobody understood what it _does_ to you. But I do." I could feel my hands clenching in my lap at the memories. "I watched as his parents died and my heart went out to him."

I cleared my throat, my voice suddenly gone hoarse with emotion. I turned to the judge. "Your honor. I care for the boy. I want to help him. He needs someone to understand and to love him. Please...allow me that privilege."

"That's all very well, Mr. Wayne," the judge said. "But understanding isn't enough for a child. He also requires stability, consistency and supervision. In the eyes of the law, Mr. Wayne, what makes you think that you are fit to raise a child by yourself?"

"Well, Your Honor, I'm not entirely alone. In addition to contact with several close family friends, including Dr. Leslie Thompkins of the Gotham Free Clinic, I reside with the gentleman largely responsible for raising me from my childhood," I smiled a little remembering the well-deserved kick to the rear Alfred had administered just the previous week.

The City Attorney broke in. "Your Honor, the person Mr. Wayne is referring to is the family butler! This court can hardly condone a playboy passing his parental duties off to the hired help!"

"Perhaps I should call the next witness before I'm finished with Mr. Wayne. Is that permissible Your Honor?" Rae asked. "I'd like to reserve the right to defer the remainder of his testimony till later," she nodded toward Opposing Counsel. "And defer cross-examination as well?"

"That's fine with me," the City Attorney said. "We might as well deal with this issue now."

"Very well, Counsel. Call your next witness. Mr. Wayne is released for the time being with the understanding that you will complete his Direct and Cross later," the judge flipped through his folder, looking bemused. I could imagine that he didn't get child custody battles like this one very much. I glanced at Dick, who wasn't holding up as well.

I stepped down from the stand and took my seat again, elbowing Dick lightly in the ribs. "You okay, chum?"

He glanced at me. "I'll live. I just wish they'd let me go. It's not like anyone but you really cares about what happens to me. To them, I'm just a problem Gypsy kid left on their doorstep, and you're making them look bad."

"That's not hard to do, Dick. Caring about you is very easy for me and embarrassing them is pretty simple too." I grinned at him, watching for the tiny answering smile, then patted him on the back and watched the proceedings. They had Alfred on the stand and sworn in. Alfie might be seventy years old, but it's a young seventy. He sat bolt upright in the way that only a former British soldier can.

"How long have you worked for the Wayne family, Mr. Pennyworth?" Rae asked.

"Call me Alfred, please," Alfred said with dignity. "I was the Wayne butler when Master Bruce was born. I watched his first steps. And when his parents were killed, I went with him to his Uncle Philip's house as his valet."

"At some point, you became his legal guardian?" Rae asked.

"Yes, his uncle died several years later. I was named in the Waynes' wills as a secondary guardian, in case of Philip Kane's death. From then until Master Bruce's majority, I was his legal guardian."

"When Bruce came of age, what was your status then?"

"I was ready to retire, but I knew that I would miss the lad terribly. He felt the same and asked me to stay on as his butler. From that point on, I have assisted him in keeping his properties in order and whatever projects might arise."

"How do you feel about the presence of Dick Grayson in the house?"

Alfred smiled and I could see his eyes dance. "Young Master Dick is a blessing on the house. His brightness and humor bring light into our lives. Since the boy arrived, I have seen Master Bruce smile on more occasions than he had in years previously. I have grown quite fond of Master Dick myself and regard him as a kind of grandson."

"Does Dick's presence cause you extra work?"

"Pish! Oh my, no. The boy has excellent manners and is much tidier than Master Bruce ever was. He doesn't cause me any work at all and I find it very pleasant to have a child in the house again."

"Then you support this adoption?"

"Yes, I do. I haven't seen Master Bruce this happy in years. I believe that he will be a good father and I am looking forward to watching young Master Dick grow up."

Smiling, Rae turned to the judge. "I'm done with this witness, Your Honor."

"All right, counsel. Cross examination?"

The City Attorney stood. "Ready, Your Honor." She walked over to Alfred. "Mr...Alfred, how old are you?"

Alfred stiffened. He hates it when his age is brought up. "I was seventy at my last birthday, ma'am."

"How many years, exactly, have you served the Wayne family?"

"Thirty two years."

"How is your health? Do you have any chronic health conditions?"

I felt my eyes widen just a bit. His health is not one of the things Alfred encourages talk about.

Alfred hesitated a bit.

"May I remind you that you're under oath..." the City Attorney said.

"I...have... some... arthritis in my hands and knees, but not enough to slow me down," Alfred said almost angrily. "My blood pressure and heart are fine." Alfred cracked a tiny smile. "And, as you can see, I am losing my hair."

There was a small chuckle in the courtroom and I mentally praised Alfred. Good deflection! The attorney looked disappointed; I think she was hoping for a heart condition.

"Let's discuss your duties for the Wayne household. You are Mr. Wayne's chauffeur? And you take Richard to and from school?"

"Yes, I do."

"You are also the cook...?"

"Chef, madam. My standards and output are considerably higher than an ordinary cook."

"I see. You're the chef, then. Who washes the dishes?"

"I do, madam, although I am endeavoring to train young Master Dick." (Another courtroom chuckle)

"You also keep the mansion clean?"

"With the assistance of a weekly cleaning crew, yes, madam." Alfred looked stolidly calm. Unflappable.

"You are also Mr. Wayne's valet and assistant? I understand that you keep his social calendar as well?"

"Yes, madam, I do."

"You also do some gardening? Clean the swimming pools? Maintain the Wayne cars?"

"With the assistance of a staff of gardeners, yes, madam. I occasionally clean leaves from the outdoor pool and adjust chemicals in both. Regarding the automobiles, I do service the Jag and the Bentley; it takes an Englishman to understand British cars."

"And you also undertake what you call 'special projects' for Mr. Wayne? What are those?"

Those special projects, being of a 'bat' nature, aren't anything that we discuss. I wondered how Alfred would answer...

With a twinkle in his eye, Alfred drawled, "Well, when Master Bruce dresses as a giant bat and flits into the night, I help him to don his costume...Honestly, madam, I simply do whatever small errands that need running, that is all." Another chuckle rolled through the courtroom. I let myself relax minutely.

The attorney took a different tack. "Alfred, you haven't raised any children of your own, have you?"

"No, madam, but I was instrumental in raising Master Bruce. I consider that more than adequate experience." I smiled. If the attorney was expecting a dim old man, Alfred was giving her something else altogether.

Not satisfied with the responses Alfred was giving, the attorney said, "No more questions, Your Honor."

"I have one more question," Rae said and went over to Alfred. "Alfred, do you feel that your age has any bearing on your ability to provide care for both Mr. Wayne and Dick?"

"None at all," Alfred said firmly. "I have already had the care of Master Dick in addition to Master Bruce and believe that the house runs as perfectly well as it ever did before."

"Thank you, Alfred. Your Honor, I have no more questions for this witness."

"Thank you, Ms. Green. Call your next witness..." Both turned when an agitated-looking clerk ran into the room with a note for the judge. He read it and his eyebrows went up. "Miss Green...uh...your 'special witness' is here. Do you wish to call him?"

Rae's smile grew broader. "Your Honor, since Mr. Wayne's character seems to be at issue, I thought I would bring in a character witness whose reputation, in Gotham at least, is unimpeachable. I call Batman to the stand."


	28. Batman Testifies

CHAPTER 28

The courtroom was hushed as the great double doors at the back opened and in strode the Batman. I craned my neck along with the others seated in the room, to gawk at this Gotham legend. Dick shot me a questioning look, but I just winked at him and he settled down again.

The so-called Dark Knight was tall, much taller than most men. He was also broad, his muscles straining against the fabric of the suit. The cowl covered his face except for his mouth and chin as he moved to the front of the courtroom and stood, arms akimbo (not a customary pose of the Batman's, but I doubted anyone would notice).

Rae gestured toward the stand and the Bat walked over, delicately sat down and was duly sworn in. His voice was gravelly to the ear.

The City Attorney watched the swearing-in unhappily, then signaled the judge that she'd like a conference at the bench. They kept their voices down, but I heard them anyway, as did the caped figure on the stand. "Your Honor, this man is a vigilante! Nobody knows who he really is under that cowl of his. How can you evaluate his truthfulness when his identity is unknown?"

"Oh, I don't know," Rae said calmly. "What's that old biblical saying, 'By his works you shall know him'? Everyone has heard of Batman and most of Gotham adores him, even Commissioner Gordon. I say let me present him and take his testimony for what you deem it worth."

The judge looked thoughtfully from lawyer to lawyer and finally over at the Bat, seated quietly in his chair with a tiny smile on his face. Finally, the judge shrugged. "I'll allow it. Proceed Ms. Green."

Rae nodded at the judge and turned to Batman. "Would you state your name and address for the record, sir?"

"I'm called Batman. I can be reached via Commissioner Gordon's office at 211 Main Street, Gotham City."

I overheard Miss Simms' loud whisper to Mr. Holland. "...damned bat-signal..." Batman's smile grew a bit broader. I glared at him and touched a finger to my lips. The smile died, leaving his face stony solemn.

"Batman, I understand that you are present today to testify about Bruce Wayne's fitness to be a parent?"

"That's right," Batman said.

"How long have you known Bruce Wayne?" Rae asked.

"About four years now, since I became active as a vigilante in Gotham City. We met on the street, in front of the old theater on Park Row," Batman said calmly.

"That's a rough part of town," Rae said. "Why were you there?"

"Crime Alley is a regular part of my patrol area because it is a bad area. I like to keep an eye on Dr. Leslie Thompkins' free clinic there."

"I see. And how did you and Mr. Wayne meet?"

"He was just leaving the clinic. I was curious about him because I knew that his charities pay most of the clinic's expenses, so I struck up a conversation with him. He was very interested in my work cleaning up crime in the area. In fact, he asked a favor of me."

"Really, what favor was that?" Rae asked.

"The murder of his parents when he was a child; it had occurred in the alley abutting the theater, but had never been solved by the police or the half dozen investigators he'd hired. He asked for my help bringing the killer to justice."

Rae's eyes grew wide. I'd never discussed my parents' case with anyone except Jim Gordon. "And did you help him?"

"Indeed I did. I determined that the murderer was a petty crook called Joseph Chilton, aka Joe Chill. Ultimately, I traced him to his hideout, where I found him dead, shot by his own men." Batman shrugged. "I never found out why. But at least I was able to give Bruce some closure. I would say that the investigation was the beginning of our friendship."

"I see. And what is your impression of Bruce Wayne?" Rae asked.

"My primary job as a vigilante for Gotham City is to investigate crimes. Within the context of investigating Bruce's parents' murder, I also investigated him. I like to know who I'm working with. I discovered the unsung hero of Gotham City. Wherever there is renewal within Gotham, I usually find Bruce Wayne behind it. The low cost housing going up near Park Row? Bruce Wayne's money. He funds at least three low cost or free medical clinics in the city. His anonymous donation pays for free school lunches throughout Gotham City. I was, and am, greatly impressed by this man's dedication to a city that spends much of its time mocking him in the tabloids." Batman shifted in his chair and directed his gaze at me through the opaque white eyelets in his cowl. I knew that he could see me anyway. Damn. Why did I have to ask a professional researcher/reporter to put on the suit today?

"I also know that he was honestly saddened to hear that Joe Chill had died. He hadn't wanted revenge, only justice, Chill tried by a jury and imprisoned. Then I realized the kind of man this was: generous, compassionate and honorable. I admire him greatly."

Oh geez, Clark, trowel it on, will you? I saw 'Batman' quirk a fast smile at me. It disappeared before anyone else saw it.

"And what's your opinion of Bruce Wayne as a parent?"

"I've seen him with the boy, Dick Grayson. There's no one I could recommend more. Approving the adoption only confirms the relationship these two have already formed. Bruce _is_ Dick's father. Dick_ is_ Bruce's son already."

"I have no more questions, Your Honor," Rae said and sat down. The City Attorney approached Batman gingerly.

"In your investigation of Bruce Wayne, did you dredge up his extensive sexual history as well?"

"If you're asking whether I looked at Bruce's social history, yes, I did. If you're asking whether I believe everything the Gotham Gazette says about him, then no."

"Don't you believe that Wayne should be held to some standard before he is allowed to adopt a child?"

A look of irritation passed across Batman's face. "I think that the standard should be the same as any other human being is held to. Poorly researched yellow journalism like the Gazette is better used to line trash cans than as the basis for an investigation. Additionally, in my opinion, the investigation perpetrated on Bruce Wayne by Simms and Holland could have been done better by one of Commissioner Gordon's first year rookies!"

"Just what are your credentials as an investigator, _Batman_?"

"Let's just put it this way, Ms. Stafford, if the truth came out about the personal lives of most of your Gotham foster parents, you wouldn't have any left! And incidentally, when I mentioned that Bruce shouldn't be held to a higher standard than others, it's with the knowledge that you, yourself worked your way through law school manning a phone sex line. Miss Sexton over there had some unfortunate arrests for shoplifting in college. Mr. Holland has a wife and a girlfriend in Metropolis but hasn't told his wife in Gotham yet. In contrast, Bruce Wayne is a saint."

Amid the muttering and low voiced discussion in the courtroom, the City Attorney was effectively silenced. I was smothering outraged chuckles. When I'd given Clark the script, I had told him not to improvise. Clearly he hadn't listened and had gone on to do some research on his own. Gah! The Press! They're all the same!

When I looked up again, Batman was leaving the courtroom with a little bit of a swagger in his step. I owed Clark a big favor now; that's why I so rarely ask. I felt a small hand touch my arm. It was Dick.

"Was that..?" he hissed into my ear.

"Yes," I replied. "It was."

Dick just grinned at me, but I suspected he'd be wearing the Superman t-shirt to bed tonight. Rae called her next witness, a child psychologist that Dick had seen after his parents' death and again with this trial in the offing. Dick leaned close to me again and whispered in my ear. "I hope he doesn't say I'm crazy for wanting you to adopt me."

With difficulty, I held back the smile that threatened to break out. The longer Dick stays with me, the more pronounced his sense of humor is becoming. Rae went through the psychologist's qualifications in depth. He is, in fact, one of the best child psychologists on the Eastern seaboard.

"Dr. Sawyer, I understand that Dick Grayson is your patient?"

"Yes, he is," Sawyer answered.

"What were the circumstances of his becoming your patient?"

"His parents were murdered in front of him. Mr. Wayne, his foster father, asked me to treat him for post-traumatic stress disorder which was presenting as violent nightmares."

"Did those nightmares resolve eventually?" Rae asked as the doctor riffled through his folder.

"They did for a while, then Dick's custody was shifted to a cousin...Richard Loyd...I understand that that didn't end well," Sawyer said grimly. "After Dick got out of the hospital, he began to see me again with additional nightmares."

"What nightmares were these?"

"In addition to re-living the deaths of his parents', he also dreamed that his cousin Richard was trying to kill him. He was basically re-experiencing Loyd's actual attempt at murdering him."

"What form did your treatment take?" Rae asked.

"Reassurance, discussion with Dick about the difference between dreams and reality. Dick was adamant that he didn't want antidepressants or any kind of sleeping aid. He did say that he felt much more secure when with his original caregiver, Bruce Wayne."

"In the months since his return to Bruce Wayne's custody, have the nightmares receded?"

"Oh yes. Also, Dick has a much healthier diet with Wayne and is more physically active. The atmosphere in general with Bruce Wayne is better for Dick than any of the alternatives proposed by the Department of Social Services."

"Those being?"

Sawyer sniffed. "Dick has been the victim of a tragedy, but was recovering well with Bruce Wayne as his foster parent until the boy was summarily transferred to an unsuitable placement simply because they were blood relations. And now they want to compound their mistakes by placing this normal, happy boy into a therapeutic group home?"

"What's wrong with a therapeutic group home?" Rae asked.

"Therapeutic group homes are intended for children with serious mental illness. Dick is a normal child suffering from PTSD, already well on its way to resolution before he was plucked from his new home." Sawyer slid his glasses back up his nose.

"What, then, would you recommend?"

"He should stay with Wayne, right where he is now. Dick has bonded quite well with Bruce Wayne and the feeling appears to be mutual. This is the best outcome possible for the boy since he has lost his parents."

"In your opinion, if Dick were removed again, what would be the likely result?"

"It would be devastating for him. He's a very resilient young man, but everyone has a limit and he's reached his. Remove him again and he may lose his ability to attach to another parental figure. He'd lose his ability to trust again." Sawyer scowled at the social workers. "Do that, and in a few years this child may well _need_ that therapeutic group home!"

"Thank you, Dr. Sawyer," Rae said. "No more questions."

"Very well, opposing counsel may cross examine," the judge said.


	29. Dick Testifies

If all goes well, Chapter 30 will be the final chapter. I'll plan to post it next weekend.

CHAPTER 29

The City Attorney got up to cross-examine Dr. Sawyer. She removed a document from her folder, showed it to Rae, then handed it to Sawyer.

"Doctor, were you aware that Dick has had multiple physical injuries while in the custody of Mr. Wayne?"

"Yes, Dick had a cast on one arm the last time I saw him. What of it?"

"Dr. Thompkins' medical report also shows bruising and a black eye as well as a broken wrist. Would you say that this is an unusual number of injuries for a child over a six month period?"

Sawyer pushed his glasses up his nose again and peered up at her. "Is there something you are trying to imply?"

"Could these injuries have been caused, perhaps by an adult?"

"You're crazy!" Dick shouted. I looked and found him standing on top of the counsel table, yelling at the top of his lungs. "Bruce didn't hurt me! Bruce would never hurt me! None of it was his fault! It was the bullies at school! And the arm was my own clumsiness! I just didn't get out of the way in time to..."

"Dick!" I said gently. He stopped his rant and looked back at me. "Shouldn't you get off the table now?"

He flushed when he realized where he was and carefully climbed down again. "Anyway," he said penitently to the scowling judge. "The bruises and the eye I got from the bullies at school. And the arm, like I told you, I did it while working on the traps."

Sawyer smiled benignly at the City Attorney. "As the boy says, his injuries are pretty much what an active boy of his age could expect. Especially when that boy is an acrobat. I don't see Dick blaming Bruce."

"Then, how about this," the attorney handed him another paper. "This is a report from the Gotham Academy as well as statements from two boys who attend there. They say that Richard actually started a fight with them by luring them behind a dumpster. He caused some fairly serious injuries. Do children who come from violent or abusive homes sometimes act out violently at school?"

"Sometimes children do," Sawyer said, reading the report. "But I don't think that this one did. I understand that he was moved up a couple of grades. He's also small for his age, so I doubt that he went gunning for the other boys."

"Still, it does happen that when a child learns violence at home, he often repeats it at school?"

"It can happen," Sawyer admitted grudgingly.

"Similarly, if a child is raised in a highly sexualized environment, he can act out later in life?"

"What do you mean by a sexualized environment?" Sawyer asked.

"Say, with a parent who dates frequently and has sexual encounters with multiple partners over time, making a practice of bringing them into the home overnight..." the City Attorney let her voice trail off suggestively. I felt my body brace defensively.

Sawyer bellowed a laugh. "Oh, you mean Bruce Wayne's popularity with the female sex? Much depends on how blatant Wayne is with his sex life and how much exposure the boy has to his parent's activities. If the man is discreet and maintains his life with an appropriate level of privacy, I doubt it would affect the boy much at all."

"Consider the example Mr. Wayne is demonstrating to a growing youth...that women are expendable, replaceable sex toys? That commitment to a sex partner is unnecessary? How do we know that growing up in such an environment won't encourage the boy to be as sexually promiscuous as his parent because that's what he perceives as normal?"

Dr. Sawyer looked frustrated. "It's also equally possible that, given the fact that this boy spent the first eight years of his life living closely with loving, monogamous parents, that he'll enter into committed relationships and grow up to be a well-adjusted adult. You're grasping at straws, counselor. The fact remains that this child is getting what he needs from his current setting: love, attention, consistency, food and shelter. I'd like to see one of your foster children get as much."

"I'm finished with this witness," the City Attorney said, looking satisfied.

"Re-direct?" the judge asked Rae. She shook her head. "No, I'm satisfied with Dr. Sawyer's testimony."

"Bruce?" Dick whispered softly into my ear.

"Yeah, chum?"

"Why are they spending so much time talking about your sex life?" He turned concerned blue eyes in my direction. I had already decided to invite any further female guests to the penthouse on top of the Wayne Building rather than the Manor to save Dick's sensibilities.

"I guess they think it's important that I model what they consider appropriate behavior for you." I said, a bit stiffly.

"Oh." Dick said thoughtfully. "Don't worry about me, Bruce. Me and some other kids used to peek through the slats when Harry the clown used to bring his girlfriend's home to his trailer. He had a different one in every town we stopped in. Sometimes two." He smiled, reminiscently. "Mom found out and made us stop being...'peeping toms'...she called it. She said it was disrespectful."

As I have often done since bringing Dick home, I paused a very long time before I could think of an appropriate response. Finally, I simply said, "Your mother was right. It is disrespectful." And I left it at that.

"It's okay, Bruce. I'd never peek in on you," Dick said sincerely and I resolved firmly to begin using the penthouse for my dates. There are some things I had never considered before when I decided to adopt Dick and that was certainly one of them. Another note I made to myself, go through my library and remove anything that might be inappropriate for Dick to see and lock down my computer files. I looked at his bright, earnest face and decided on double encryption for some things.

"I'd like to call my next witness, Dick Grayson," Rae said.

"It's about time," Dick muttered and popped upright, almost running to the stand. He stood with right hand up to be sworn in, then hauled himself up into the chair. Dick looked glad to be there. He was right. It was about time that somebody listened to his wants and needs. He's such a small boy, he was dwarfed by the tall chair and the even larger judge's bench next to him. I was suddenly afraid of Dick's very smallness. What if they decided not to trust such a little boy in my care? What did I know about kids anyway? I had already sent away for half a dozen child-rearing manuals and I hoped that book-learning would be enough to raise one child to adulthood safely. Not for the first time, I repeated my mantra: What was I thinking?!

"Hi Dick. May I call you that, or do you prefer Richard?" Rae asked.

"My name is Dick. I'm not Richard. It's Dick!" Dick said, glaring furiously at the social workers who were still getting it wrong.

"I see," Rae said, hiding a smile. "Well, now is your chance to be heard. I'd like to ask you a bit about your background, if I may. How old are you?"

"I'm eight years old. I'll be nine in March," Dick said, consciously sitting up, trying to make himself look taller.

"How long were you a performer for Haly's Circus?"

"I've been doing acrobatics since I could walk, but I started with the act when I was four. Dad had me on a high wire, but with a net, then he and Mom took turns tossing me from one to the other and swinging me over the net." Dick grinned, remembering. "It was really fun."

"Where did you live while you were with the circus?"

"We had a trailer. It was really tiny, so you had to be pretty neat and careful about putting things away. I had a bed in the back, Mom and Dad had a fold-out in front."

"Did you ever live anywhere else?"

"Yeah, we wintered in Florida, in Gibsonton. It's a circus town, y'know? Everybody there is either with a circus or retired carnies. You'd see old rides and stuff in their front yards. That's where I went to school, too. Then in the spring, we'd go back on the road with Haly's." Dick's smile grew broader as he remembered.

"Were you and your parents very close?"

Dick looked down at his feet. "Yeah. We were a family act. That meant I trained with them every day. Dad taught me about the trapeze, the high wire, acrobatics, sleight of hand, everything. Mom kept up with my school work so I didn't forget anything. I was always busy and with them most of the time, until...they were killed." The last was said in a near whisper.

"And that's when you met Mr. Wayne?"

"Yeah," Dick sniffled a bit and Rae handed him a Kleenex. "The social worker lady wanted to take me to the juvenile hall and I ran. Y'see," he looked up at Rae, blue eyes huge and swimming. "I've traveled all my life and I know what people think about gypsies. The kids throw rocks. The grownups blame any thefts on us. Mom and Dad kept me pretty close, but I still saw. Then _she _" He nodded toward Miss Simms. "Said she was gonna have trouble finding a place for me because I was Rom and...and...I just lost it." He blew his nose and looked around for another kleenex, which Rae supplied.

"How did Bruce come into your life?"

"He chased after me and caught up at my parents' trailer. He helped me pack my stuff instead of Miss Simms. _She_ was looking at my home like...like...it was crawling with bugs or something. We weren't rich, but we still had our pride, y'know? How could she diss where I lived, just because we worked in a circus..." He swabbed at his eyes and nose again. "So Bruce helped pack my clothes and walked me out to Commissioner Gordon, then he volunteered to take me. Miss Simms was so glad, like I was a problem for her and she was happy to get rid of me. I went home with Bruce that night."

"Do you like living at Wayne Manor?"

Dick gave up on talking. He just nodded vigorously, then said. "They're really nice to me there. Alfred bakes me cookies, and Bruce takes me running. He even put up a trapeze set up for me and he even wants me to teach him how to fly. He sits with me when I have nightmares, or Alfred makes me hot cocoa." He looked down again, kleenexes balled tight into his fist. "Bruce even helped me fight off the bullies. He showed me some self-defense tricks."

"Where do you want to live, Dick?"

"I want Bruce. I don't ever want to leave again. He loves me and he cares about me." Dick stood and faced the judge. "_Please_, let me stay with Mr. Wayne, Your Honor, _please_!" The sound of his desperate young voice rang through the courtroom.

"Take your seat again, Dick," the judge said and Dick hung his head returned to the stand.

As he sat, he looked up again and made eye contact with me. It felt like a lightning bolt shot between us; there was, there is, a tie between us. That boy may not have any of my genes, but we're joined at the soul somehow. I tried to give him a reassuring look, but I doubt it worked. Dick didn't know about my last ditch contingency plan. Members of the JLA laugh at my tendency to have contingency plan upon contingency plan for any occurrence, no matter how impossible, but of course I had prepared for the worst.

My private jet was fueled and ready to leave at a moment's notice. I had already transferred substantial funds to numbered bank accounts overseas. If we lost the hearing, before social services could take him from me again, we'd be on that jet, me, Dick and Alfred. Dick would have a more cosmopolitan upbringing in those countries that lacked extradition treaties and were not signatories to the Hague Convention on Child Abduction. I truly hoped it wouldn't come to that, but this boy wasn't going to be raised in foster care! I was ready.

"Is there anything more that you'd like to say, Dick?" Rae asked him gently.

Dick nodded and, his voice breaking, repeated his plea to the judge. "I'm not too young to decide where I belong. I lost my parents and I miss them...so much. Bruce is my best friend in the world and I...I trust him. If I can't live with the circus again, then I want to be with Mr. Wayne. That's my home now, and I don't see myself anyplace else. So please, Your Honor, let me go where I belong..." With that, Dick slid off the chair and came back to his seat next to me, then burrowed into me, all but climbing into my lap. I couldn't say anything, but just held him close while he sobbed.

"Let's have a lunch break, folks," the judge said, eyeing Dick. "Come back at 1:30 and we'll see if Dick is up to some _gentle_ cross examination." The judge stressed the word gentle and glared at the social workers when he said so.


	30. Bruce Testifies

CHAPTER 30

Author's Note: While I have tried to make the court proceedings as accurate as possible, this is still a work of fiction and I don't want to put my readers to sleep. Accordingly, I have abbreviated and bypassed various parts of the proceeding for the sake of brevity. I will admit that the Social Services case in chief stank, mostly because I didn't think it through well enough. I may rewrite it later. Or not. It's been a pleasure to get all your reviews and messages, thank you all for your support. You kept my fingers tapping.

* * *

BRUCE WAYNE'S TESTIMONY

We went back to the mansion for lunch. Unfortunately, the press had caught wind of the proceedings, so making it to the car involved plowing through a hundred flash bulbs. I held onto one of Dick's hands while forcing our way through the mob. At one point, the reporters crowded close and Dick's hand pulled out of mine.

"Dick!" I called and began knocking down reporters and cameramen, ultimately finding Dick on the cement, cowering beneath the onslaught. I elbowed a paparazzo and tripped another to get to my boy. "Get away from him!" I snarled and grabbed Dick with both hands. He clung to me like a monkey as I dashed for the car. Fortunately, the Bentley is a big car and was easily seen over the crush. I dove for it, pursued by them until I saw that Alfred had opened the car door. I flung myself in and slammed the door behind me. Alfred took off at a good clip and soon we were on the way to the manor.

I peeled an unwilling child off me and settled him in the seat next to me, searching anxiously for any injuries. Dick was such a small boy and he could so easily have been crushed by that mob.

"Dick? Are you okay?" I asked, seeing that he was white faced and panting in his seat. I only saw some bruises and scrapes. "Are you hurt?"

"There were so many of them... Is it always going to be like that?"

I drew in a deep breath, angry to my core at the vultures gathered to feed off celebrity. "Sometimes," I said. "But I'll be with you, Dick. They won't hurt you; I won't let them." I peered into his face, suddenly worried that Dick might not want this life that I was offering him. Celebrity and wealth have their price and this is one of them. "Are you okay with that? Do you still want to live with us?" Please don't say 'no', Dick. Not now.

He looked at me thoughtfully, then a devil-may-care grin spread across his face. "You aren't gonna get rid of me that easily, Bruce. And once you've got me trained, they'd better watch out. I'll clobber 'em if they get too close!"

I grinned back and leaned against my seat.

"Yeah, I guess so," he said, unconvincingly. He stayed quiet and sad throughout our lunch.

"I'm sorry, sir," Alfred said, checking his watch. "But we had better be going back now."

Watching Dick reluctantly get up out of his chair, the jet waiting at the airport became very tempting. I wasn't only sentencing this boy to a life in the dark shadows, fighting crime, but also the glare of celebrity. I could try to shield him, but as my son he would never have the blessing of anonymity that most people enjoy. There would always be the paparazzo hiding around the corner with camera at the ready, the inability to keep personal things personal without effort. He would know how to defend himself physically, I'd personally make sure of that. But emotionally? Dick would be chased by gold diggers anxious for the money he expected to inherit from me. He'd always be doubting the motives of any woman who showed an interest in him unless she, herself, was an heiress.

"Do you still want to do this, chum?" I asked him again, my voice nearly inaudible. "I'd understand if it was too much for you."

"I'll leave, if you want me to, Bruce," he said. "But if you still want me to be your kid, I'm staying. I don't care about the lawyers or the reporters or the tabloids." He grabbed my hand and pulled me towards the door. "Come on," he said, tugging harder. "Let's get me adopted."

"Good," I said, and let him tug me out to the car.

* * *

GOTHAM COUNTY SUPERIOR COURT

Both parties were standing in their places when the judge entered the courtroom, then we all sat down. He looked over his glasses at the City Attorney. "Well, counsel? Are you going to cross-examine the boy?"

"I don't think that will be necessary," she said.

"Very well, Ms. Green, please call your next witness," he said and picked up his notepad and pen again.

"I call Bruce Wayne to the stand," Rae said. I got up and seated myself again in the chair.

"You are still sworn to tell the truth, Mr. Wayne," the judge said. "Do you understand?"

"Yes, Your Honor," I answered and leaned back into the chair to finish this.

"Bruce," Rae said. "I understand that you have made some plans for Dick's future?"

I straightened up and spoke directly to the judge. "I've already settled a considerable fortune on Dick in trust until he's of age. That's his whether or not I am able to adopt him. I want to be sure that he has choices about what his life will be; there's enough to send him through graduate school at good colleges and a bit more to start a business or career. Additionally, I have also changed my will, making Dick my primary heir. He will inherit Wayne Enterprises in its entirety."

Rae handed me a copy of my will and the trust papers. "Are these the papers you were referring to?"

"Yes," I replied.

She took them from me, handed a copy to the City Attorney and gave the originals to the court clerk for marking. "I would like to enter these into evidence as next in order."

The judge nodded and began to look them over. "Very generous," he said. "Go on, Ms. Green."

"Bruce, have you considered the DSS's concerns about your suitability as a parent?"

"Yes, I have," I said.

"And what are your plans?"

"First, given their concerns about my dating habits, I have decided that I will use my penthouse on top of the Wayne Building for any overnight female guests. Dick, sleeping at the manor, won't see most of my lady friends. Alfred will be supervising him on those nights. Secondly, while I can't cancel all of my social engagements, I do plan to reduce my social life to those events related to the charities I support. I intend to devote as much time as possible to Dick and his interests."

"And if you are not permitted to adopt, but the boy becomes, say, your ward instead? Would that change your plans?" the judge asked.

"No, your honor, not at all. Regardless of the titles involved, I regard Dick as my son. If I am not able to call him my son, I would...accept... being his guardian, but I would prefer to be his father. I want him to be officially my family. Guardianship ends when the ward comes of age, but I'll still be Dick's father when he is eighteen if I can adopt him." I shifted to face the judge more directly. "Your Honor, my family died when I was a child, leaving me alone in the world but for a very good friend." I glanced at Alfred and smiled. "This is my chance to...to have a family again. Having lived without one, I find the family tie to be infinitely precious, something to be protected fiercely. I love this child. Taking care of him has taught me more about love than I ever knew...at least since my parents died. Please. Please let me be his father..." I felt an unaccustomed moisture on my cheeks, but wasn't ashamed, nor did I try to wipe it away. I had cried for my parents and in my loneliness. Now I cried for something that had changed me to the soul and brought me back into the light from the long darkness.

I glanced at the council table and saw tears running down Dick's cheeks. Alfred had moved in next to him and was sitting with an arm around him.

The judge handed me down a kleenex from the bench. "Any more questions for this witness?"

"No, Your Honor, I think that's it," Rae said and sat down.

"Mr. Wayne," the City Attorney said. "You understand our reservations about your suitability as an adoptive parent?"

"I do," I said, straightening up. "And I've taken measures to alleviate them, but I can't stop being a wealthy man or a famous one. And I won't marry just anyone so that Dick can have a mother."

"Your plans are very encouraging," the City Attorney said. "But I note that you haven't yet set them into motion, have you? Your female guests have been staying at Wayne Manor during the six months that Dick has been resident there?"

"There have been female overnight guests, yes," I muttered.

"And there have been numerous parties at the Manor as well? Most of them going late into the night and where alcohol is served?"

"Yes, but most of them were either business functions or charitable parties. Dick went to bed at his usual time and I never force him to attend," I said.

"Mr. Wayne, you have been a well-known bachelor since your late teens. This urge of yours for parenthood has overtaken you very suddenly in contrast to your many years of excess. Hasn't it occurred to you that this fad of yours will probably dissolve just as quickly as it overtook you?"

I knew that I was frowning in what Clark calls my 'bat glare'. The City Attorney actually backed up two steps, so I dialed it down a notch and took a deep, calming breath. "This isn't a fad. Dick needs a parent and I'm willing to be one. Aren't the foster homes overcrowded with kids like him? I am able to support him and I am fighting to be able to! What's so puzzling about that?" I looked up at the judge. "What I'm asking for is very simple and I'll go through fire if I have to." I gestured toward where Dick sat at the counsel table, his face tear-streaked. "But hasn't Dick had enough? He's been through the wringer ever since his parents were killed. He's had no stability and no permanence. Isn't that what your entire system is intended to provide? Because of Social Service's decision to place him with that cousin, he almost died! Forget me and look at what it's doing to the child!"

The judge took a long look at Dick, and then straightened.

He turned to the City Attorney. "Do you have any more points you want to make?"

"Um...just that Wayne's unlikely to change his lifestyle, he's immature and likely to change his mind and that the boy will lack a mother. And that all of the parties at Wayne Manor will introduce the minor to a lot of questionable strangers," the City Attorney said.

"And you, counsel?" the judge turned to Rae.

"I'd only be arguing the points already made. That Dick needs a home and Bruce is the best choice for the reasons I've already presented: Bruce dotes on the boy, can easily support him and is committed to being a parent. He'll do whatever is required of him to facilitate this adoption."

"All right, then," the judge said. "During this entire proceeding, I've been watching Dick over there. The only time I've seen a smile on his face is when he's somewhere near Bruce Wayne. Whenever testimony has come in damaging to Wayne, that boy droops. When testimony favorable to Wayne comes in, the kid perks up. Although I generally go with Social Services' recommendations, I have the discretion to override them and I'm doing it now. Those two belong together and I'm not going to keep them separate a moment longer. Ms. Green, please give me the order to sign?"

With a big grin, Rae riffled through her folder and handed a paper to the bailiff. The City Attorney leaned in to the social workers, explaining the judge's action.

The judge signed his name with a flourish, then handed it over to the clerk for filing. "Ladies and Gentlemen, I would like to thank you for your very impassioned efforts on behalf of this minor. Mr. Wayne, you can take your son home now. Congratulations. I have five children and, I warn you, the teen years can frighten the bravest parent but I think you'll do okay. Court is adjourned."

He came down from the bench and shook my hand, as did Rae and then Alfred. The Social Services twins had disappeared and I didn't care. At last, I saw Dick standing by the table, fidgeting in place. I knelt down and opened my arms. Dick gave a loud whoop and ran into them, almost knocking me down. "You happy, chum?" I asked.

"Yeah," he said. "Let's go home, 'kay?"

I picked up my new son and strode out of the courtroom and into the frenzy of reporters outside. This time, to my surprise, they took one look at my huge grin and somebody started to applaud. More of the crowd picked it up until the entire group was clapping and shouting congratulations. Alfred swung the car over to the curb and opened the door.

The picture that graced the front page of the Gotham Gazette showed me, grinning like a maniac, holding an equally joyous boy in my arms, about to get into the car. Somehow, this time I didn't mind the publicity.

We began Robin's training in earnest the next day and he made his first official flight as Robin six months later. But that's another story. I have never regretted taking in Dick Grayson and making him my son. I think that, if he chooses to, he will be a worthy successor to the Batman legacy. And even if he doesn't, I know that he will grow to be a good man that I can be proud of.

END FILE

* * *

"Hey, Dick! What are you doing all alone in this cave? The Team's waiting!" A red-headed teenager dressed in yellow and red sprinted from the zeta tube over to the fifteen year old seated at the main console. Dick was leaning back in the chair, looking pensive. "Whoa, Earth to Dick..." Wally skidded to a stop next to his best friend.

"Hey, Wally," Dick said, reaching for his shades. He was dressed in jeans, t-shirt and hoodie. He hit a key on the computer and a page of print faded from the monitor.

"So what was that? How did the project go?" Wally asked, grinning. "Did you hack some of Batman's secret files?"

Dick grinned back. "Uh...yeah. A really old one, back from when I was eight." He ran a hand through his hair, making it even more unruly-looking. "It was...personal. I feel kinda guilty that I read it. I...uh...found his diary."

"His diary! The bat's diary? Damn! Well, what did it say? Can I read it? Is he even human under that cape?" Wally was almost dancing with glee, but slowed when he saw Dick's face. "What is it? What did he write about?"

Dick blushed. "Well...me, mostly. It was about when Bruce adopted me...I never knew...I've been complaining a lot about what a perfectionist Bruce is, and how he pushes people away...But, I never knew how much he really feels or what he thinks." He paused a moment, then said, "C'mon, Wally." He gestured toward the zeta tube. "Batman's got a new mission for us, doesn't he? Let's go make him proud!"


	31. Chapter 31

To the readers of L Word-I've started a sequel titles "The L Word: Partners", filed under both Batman and Young Justice (please don't rat on me to the administration!) Here is the first chapter. For the remaining chapters you'll have to find it under it's own title listed above.

Author's note: I have about five story ideas I wanted to work on, but what was it that was calling to me?! This one. I fought it for a week, then gave in.

* * *

The L Word: Partnership

Chapter 1: Christmas!

* * *

File coded: RJG-R-JNL

Quadruple Encrypted

This is Robin's Journel, so stay out!

Would you believe it? Today is Christmas, my first in the manor. Ever since Bruce adopted me, I've been so busy I had lost track of time. Bruce said that I should keep a journel so I don't forget stuff. He also says that journelling (sp?) will make it easier to write reports after patrol. OK, I'll try, but I don't think I want to use all the big words that Bruce does because it slows me down trying to figure out how to spell them. And Bruce says I absolutly, positively can't write like I text. I gotta use whole words and not abbreev...abreev...oh heck...abbreveations.

Anyway, the pile of presents under the Christmas tree has been growing all week and my stack is the tallest! When I lived with Mom and Dad, they usually only gave me one present and maybe some clothes (but those didn't count). Now it looks like Bruce (or probably Alfie) bought out the store for me.

I really hope Bruce likes what I made for him. Bruce has been showing me how to make batarangs, but Alfred taught me to finish them so that they're sharp and to coat them with non-reflective paint. I did a set of three for Bruce. And I made a set of wooden bookends for Alfred in shop class at school. I did another pair for Superman; Bruce helped me mail the package to Clark in Metropolis along with the silk tie that Bruce and Alfred were giving him.

Oh, that's Alfred. It's time to open presents now.

(Later)

I didn't get back right away to the journal, so I might as well fill it all in. Bruce got me a complete Robin uniform set. Now I have a summer outfit (with the pixie boots and short pants) and a winter one with long pants. He's right, though, the long pants are a lot warmer and I don't get the scrapes and cuts on my knees that I did in the short pants.

I went upstairs and found Bruce and Alfred waiting for me by the tree. The stack of presents for me was truly huge by now. Bruce looked a little embarrassed by the size of the pile but I didn't mind. Sitting right in front were two really big flat presents that Bruce wanted me to open first. Who was I to argue? I opened them and almost fell over. Bruce had found not one, but two Flying Graysons posters and had them framed. Alfred, Bruce and I went right to my bedroom and I watched as Bruce and Alfred hung them both up for me. It's kind of funny watching Alfred giving Bruce orders about where to put the picture hangers. When Alfred gives an orders, Bruce moves about as fast as I do when Batman tells me to do something.

I won't list everything I got but let's say I have enough new clothes for the entire circus, some new books I've been wanting and some really cool Robin things. And Superman's gift is that he's gonna take me flying! All day! Bruce looked a little mad about that until Alfred elbowed him in the ribs.

Bruce really liked the batarangs and says he'll bring one along the next time we're on patrol. Alfred says he loves the bookends. I helped him put them on his book shelf and arrange the books. He says that the craftsmanship is so good, only the Shakespeare deserves to be held by them. Wow.

So now Bruce and I are back to training. I asked him when will we ever finish all this training. He just smiled back at me and said, "Never. There is always something new to learn."

I guess he's right because he stays up late even after I go to bed. He's usually reading forensics journals or designing equipment. That's another thing he told me. We don't buy our equipment off the shelf because our needs are to spacif...specific. Darn. Bruce won't let me use spell-check because he says I should learn to spell the words right myself, even if it's only in my journal. He also gave me a dictionary for Christmas and it sits on my computer desk in the cave. It's already looking pretty worn. Sometimes I think life was easier in the circus.

We've started on some new training in memory and attention. Since I started, Batman has been training my memory. First it was playing games of Concentration. First we shuffle the deck, then deal the deck out face down. You pull two cards and try to make matched pairs by remembering cards that were pulled before. When I got pretty good at this, he taught me to memorize the details of a room or a set up of objects. First with unlimited time, then less and less time and finally I only got to glance at it and had to recite back everything I saw, including colors and placement.

Now, Batman is having me sit on buildings in Gotham while he patrols and give him a complete list of everything that happens when he's gone. Thing is, it isn't much and I get really bored. I totally spaced out the first couple of times he left me there and the next night I didn't get a dessert at dinner. Bruce just said that he thinks all the carbohydrates are making me sleepy and I should do better tonight. Yeah, right. So after that, I had it down to the number and colors of birds that landed on my rooftop, the name of the pizza parlor that delivered to the house down the street (and address) and the color of socks the beat cop wore when he patrolled the street from 9:15 to 9:20 p.m. Batman just smiled and Alfred left a piece of chocolate cake for me in the batcave that night.

But Batman really is a tough taskmaster. He's tougher than my Dad, and that's saying something. Dad would make me repeat a move or a flip three or four times, then let me sit out and watch. Batman isn't like that. He isn't even like Bruce when he's training me. Bruce has a sense of humor and smiles. Batman is...grim. Tall and dark and grim. He only has three words in his vocabulary when I'm training: "Again" or "Unacceptable" or "Acceptable". Nowhere in his vocabulary are the words "Great!" or "Better than last time!" or "I'm proud of you!"

Yesterday I practiced throwing the grapple and free climbing the cave until I was covered with sweat and I could barely move. Batman just looked at me through those white eyelets and said "Again". So, I wiped the sweat out of my eyes, adjusted my gloves and did it again. And again. And again. I was about to fall off the wall and into the net when he finally called a halt. I don't remember how I got upstairs but the next thing I knew, Bruce was tucking me into bed. Sometimes he really makes me mad!

* * *

BATMAN'S JOURNAL

Alfred says I'm working the boy too hard. Last night I had Robin non the climbing wall well after midnight on a school night. The kid was exhausted, could barely grip the handholds where he's scampered up like a monkey the first few times. I could see that he was about to drop when I finally stopped him and climbed up to get him down. We do have a net, but his falling techniques aren't as instinctive as I want them to be, so I fished him down.

Unbeknownst to me, Alfred was standing in the stairwell watching. He followed me up the steps as I was carrying Robin up to bed.

"Sir, you forget that Master Dick is just a child," he said in the patient voice he reserves for my major screwups.

"He's a professional athlete, Alfred. He's been working out since he was two," I said in a soft rumble to avoid waking Dick, passed out in my arms.

"He is exhausted. You have set a punishing pace for him, even though you have cleared him to partner you on the streets," Alfred said, opening the door to Dick's bedroom before me.

"He has to have training in endurance, Alfred," I said as I pulled off Dick's pixie boots. Still his favorites, alas. "It could save his life some day. He has to know how to work past his limits."

Alfred and I both worked to remove the rest of Dick's costume. Alfred took it away to be laundered separately from the family laundry while I dressed Dick in his pajamas. I had hoped that the argument was over but Alfred reappeared after I had tucked Dick into his bed with Zitka under his arm. I turned off the room light and Alfred shut the door behind us.

"Should I discuss this with Dr. Thompkins?" he asked.

I stopped short. "You're pulling rank on me?"

Arms folded, Alfred was the very picture of British disapproval. "If necessary, sir. It is now," he looked at his watch. "Two a.m. on a school night." He looked up at me challengingly.

"Okay, no training past one a.m.," I said.

"Midnight, sir," Alfred said. "And no patrol on those nights until the child is older."

I felt myself squirming under his icy gaze but gave in. I had to. I knew what choice words Leslie would have for me if she heard about the punishing schedule I had set up for Dick. He desperately needed the training, though. If I weren't there to save him, he might have to save himself. I sighed to myself. I'd just have to find a way to fit the training in somehow. He needed it all: endurance, concentration, memory, resistance to pain.

"All right, Alfred. Midnight it is," I replied. "I'll reserve his patrol nights for the weekends when there's no school and he can sleep late."

Alfred brightened. "Very well, sir," he replied crisply and went downstairs.

Nagging butlers.


End file.
